Two by Two by Two
by ebfiddler
Summary: The crew leaves Bandiagara on a hopeful note, when they make good on a last-ditch attempt to keep flying. But things never go smooth for long, do they? The other shoe will drop... Action/Humor/Drama/Romance. Tenth story in series.
1. Chapter 1

Two by Two by Two, Part 1a

This story is the tenth in a series that begins with "A Lion's Mouth." It follows "Bandiagara." See my profile page for more information.

Rating: This story is a bit of a departure from my usual PG or PG-13 with occasional scenes of R, as it very thoroughly earns an R rating, for violence, strong language, and sex, and it focuses on some mature themes. I don't think it crosses the line into NC-17 territory, as the descriptions are not graphic. After the build-up of Bandiagara, it's time for the other shoe to drop, and it does so with a vengeance. I'm giving the overall story a "T" rating, but understand that it is a hard "T," and sections of this story verge on "M." I will mark the head of any chapter that contains "M"-ish material, and indicate for what reason (violence, language, sex) it has earned that designation.

Thanks to my sister for beta reading, and for sticking with this long-winded saga. Thanks to Bytemite for additional beta reading of several sections of this story. Your feedback makes these stories better.

_When the Captain cooks, it's an occasion._

This chapter rated K+

* * *

It was the Captain's cook day, and everyone knew that something special was going on. The Captain had been in the galley for hours. Tantalizing smells began to drift through the metallic corridors of Serenity.

They were unusually well-provided with foodstores, since the bulk of their cargo from the remote world of Bandiagara consisted of fresh tropical fruits and vegetables. Bandiagara was corporate-controlled, with the world government securely in the pocket of the mining company that owned the mineral rights to the whole planet, and imports and exports were an exclusive concession held by 狐狸 Húli Network, an affiliate of the Blue Sun Conglomerate. They'd landed and traded illegally, and run the gauntlet of the exclusion zone by the simple expedient of not being looked for. Bandiagara was remote, underdeveloped, and disregarded by most of the rest of the 'Verse. No one expected an illegal trade ship to venture that far, and they got away clean.

Mal was doing his best to re-create the celebratory dinner that their Bandiagaran hosts, Nana and Mamadou, had given the Serenity crew their first night on the ground: white fish benachin—featuring a Bandiagaran river fish called a _capitaine_, with spicy sauce, vegetables, and rice. The fish had been caught only a few hours before their departure, and he had added a few twists of his own. He was limited by Serenity's small galley—no grilling, no baking—and he had to improvise on the ingredients. But it was delightful to have a cargo hold full of fresh fruits and vegetables, and when he cast his eyes upon the crate of fresh pineapples, he felt inspired to attempt something he'd never tried aboard ship before.

No one was late for dinner. Zoe had set the autopilot, and the entire crew gathered around the table. Mal set the dishes of rice, vegetables, fish and sauce on the table with a flourish, although he couldn't match the style of Nana. Jayne reached for the platter, but Mal stopped him with a gesture.

"I have a few words I'd like to say." He looked down a moment.

Everyone hushed. Was Mal intending to say grace?

"I think y'all know how good the world of Bandiagara has been to us. We went there as our last straw—no cargo but the trash-pickings from Beylix, just about flat broke. Y'all worked hard and turned our trash into treasure. We still don't have no money—" he grinned, and the crew shared in the moment, "—but we ain't broke. Ship's full of good things we can sell for money, next planetfall. So this dinner is by way of thankin' you for making it work." Jayne reached for the platter again, but Mal wasn't quite finished. "It also happens, today is a special day. An anniversary." There was a ripple of excitement, tinged with anxiety. Most of the Captain's anniversaries weren't good ones—U Day, the day of surrender at the Battle of Serenity Valley, the day he heard that Shadow was destroyed. Zoe looked at Mal and saw with relief that his mind was far from those battlefields. "Today is the anniversary of the first day I ever laid eyes—" He paused for dramatic effect.

Zoe was puzzled. Today was _not _the anniversary of the day he first laid eyes on Serenity.

"—on Inara Serra. The day she came aboard and told me I was going to rent my shuttle to her, for a quarter off the asking price." He picked up his mug of tea and toasted Inara. "Here's to you darlin', and the day we met." There was a roar of approval from the assembled crew, and Inara sat, eyes shining and nearly overflowing with emotion. Jayne dove for the platter.

The food was passed around, and everyone began tasting and enjoying, giving Inara a chance to recover some of that famous Companion control of hers. It took some doing. She had no particular recollection, in fact, of that day three years ago. Yes, she remembered their discussion well enough, but it had never occurred to her that Mal would mark it in his mind as 'the day we met' and fill it with romantic associations. And now he had gone through all this trouble to do something special. She began thinking of what she could do in return.

"How'd you cook this fish, Cap'n?" Kaylee was asking.

"Well, it ain't grilled," Mal replied. "Can't grill a captain aboard Serenity." He looked pointedly at Ip, then at Simon, causing River to hoot with laughter. One or the other of them was always asking the Captain uncomfortable questions. "It's poached."

"Ya mean ya bagged it out of season?" Jayne asked.

"He means he cooked it in broth," Zoe responded with an eye-roll.

"Well, it eats uncommon good," Jayne said, redeeming himself somewhat, as he speared another forkful. "Wish we could eat this good regular," he said around his mouthful of food.

"The sauce is delicious, Captain," Ip said. "Not quite the same as we had in Fajara, but still…"

"We didn't have no tamarind paste, so I had to improvise," Mal replied. "And we didn't have _bissap_ leaves. Well, actually, the only thing in here that was in Nana's benachin sauce is the salt and pepper. But it ain't half bad."

"Well, it's more 'n half good," Jayne responded, further redeeming himself.

"But not according to the plan," Mal returned.

"When did anything ever go according to the gorram plan?" Jayne asked, and the whole table burst into laughter.

. . .

As the meal wound down to its conclusion, Mal produced the _pièce de résistance_.

"Is that really a cake, Cap'n?"

"A pineapple upside-down cake!"

"Good gorram, ain't a-seen one a those in donkey's years!"

"Upside-down is a matter of perspective. I consider it right-side up," River said, cocking her head at an angle.

"How'd you do that, sir?"

"It's not, technically, a cake," Mal replied. "It's a steamed pudding. Had to improvise—"

"Again."

"—'cause there ain't no oven on Serenity, so you can't bake, and anyways there ain't enough proper wheat flour to make a cake, but you add some of them brown protein packets—"

"Gluten! It's vital wheat gluten!" Ip exclaimed with an air of revelation.

"—to the cassava flour we took on in Bandiagara, and it holds together well enough. Then, I took advantage of the fact we got cane juice—"

"I never knew what sugar cane looked like, before this."

"—and some of the bananas were startin' to turn—"

"It's banana cake!" Kaylee exclaimed.

"—and mixed up a batter, put the pineapples in the bottom of a big ol' coffee can, and poured it on top, sealed the can and steamed it in the big soup kettle for three hours." No discipline, this crew, interrupting everything he was saying, but he was basking in their enthusiasm. "Believe it or not, this is exactly how they used ta make 'em in the days of the old wooden sailing ships, on Earth-that-was. Steamed puddings with colorful names like Spotted Dog—"

"They ate _dogs_?" Someone hadn't been paying attention.

"For dessert?" Jayne inserted, incredulous. "I mean, I done et grilled dogs, but that was—"

Mal cut through the unsavory chatter. "Inara, will you do the honors?" he asked, presenting her with a knife.

The slices of steamed pudding—which did, in fact, look and taste almost exactly like cake—were handed around, and for a while, appreciative murmurs dominated the conversation.

As she cleared some dishes from the table, Inara brushed Mal's hand. "A dinner this grand should finish with an _entremets,_" she said, low in his ear. "Come to my shuttle."

. . .

"So what is an _entremets_?" Mal asked, as he entered the shuttle with a couple of packages under his arm. "I'll confess I never heard of it, but it sounds intriguing."

"It's an old French term," Inara replied, "for an after-dinner entertainment, full of symbolism and replete with meaning."

"I'm game," Mal said, "but first, will you accept this—"

"You don't have to give me any gifts, Mal," she began.

"It ain't a gift, Inara," he cut in. "More like compensation." She was puzzled. "Open it."

The box contained a tea set. "I broke your tea set a while back. I'm sorry about it. I hope this is an acceptable substitute."

It was more than acceptable. Inara had seen this tea set for sale on market day in Fajara. She liked it and intended to buy it, but when she came back to the stall after looking through the market, the tea set was gone. Now she knew why. Over the years, she had used many fine tea sets, including an ancient Chinese tea set, a modern five-piece Japanese-style tea set, and even an old-fashioned English tea set. This one was entirely different in style and appearance, and yet it maintained its function of brewing and serving tea. She set the box down on her table, and drew Mal in for a kiss. "谢谢 Xièxie."

"No need to be thanking me. I owed you a tea set. Now this here—" He produced another package, something large and soft.

"Mal, there's no need to be showering me with gifts. You've already given—"

"Inara, this here's a selfish present. I…I want to see you wearing this. Will you please put it on—for me?"

"Alright." Now she was intrigued. What was it that he wanted to see her wearing?

"I'll wait outside." He left the shuttle, shutting the hatch softly behind him.

She opened the wrapper. Carefully folded inside was some brightly colored fabric—some of the hand-tie-dye that the women of Fajara specialized in making. The colors were bright, and she feared they'd be garish, but as she pulled the garment out, she realized the colors were the perfect complement to her hair, eyes, and skin. When she unfolded the dress and laid it on the bed, she marveled for a moment. It was a re-make, in bold tropical colors, of the gown she'd worn to the ball on Persephone—the ball that ended with Mal defending her honor in a duel with swords. She looked inside. The gown was hand-sewn, and the tailor had captured the details with great care. She put it on. It fit like a glove. Mal had clearly had it hand-made just for her—but how had he managed that without her having to go for a fitting? The effect was unusual, but stunning. If she wore this dress in the Core, she could set a new fashion trend. She hastily checked her hair, make-up and jewelry, and opened the door.

He looked up from where he leaned against the rail, took in her appearance from head to toe, and rapidly closed the distance between them. She thought he would gather her in his arms, but instead he offered her his arm and escorted her, formally, back into the shuttle. Then he turned and leaned over and carefully, tenderly kissed her, touching nothing else but her fingertips. It was the same kind of kiss as their first kiss, three months ago, and had the same quality of holy passion she had come to associate with her memories of that first time. She melted with the intensity of it.

At length he drew back and spoke. "You don't mind?"

"It's perfect," she whispered.

"You sure you wouldn'ta rather had a print? There was that fine bolt of fabric we saw—"

And there he was, breaking the intensity of the moment. She began to laugh, and he did too, as they remembered the particularly outrageous tropical print that had caught the eye of both of them as they strolled the Fajara market together. "You mean the one that was fuchsia—"

"And orange."

"—and turquoise. With a—ha—" She couldn't go on, she was laughing so hard.

"Chickens," he gasped, between guffaws.

"—and cell phones," she gasped out, wiping her streaming eyes. "No. Much as I believe that print captures the spirit of Bandiagara in one—ha—ha—" With an effort, she controlled herself enough to finish the thought. "No. I like this one better."

They kissed again, playfully this time, then Mal said, "Now, how's about we get on with this _entremets _entertainment thing?"

"Let's start with some tea," she said, and set out the Bandiagaran tea things.

. . .

.

.

.

狐狸 Húli [fox]

谢谢 Xièxie [Thank you]

* * *

And we're off! The reverse of the coin after Bandiagara. And for the record, I almost bought that fabric with the chicken-and-cell-phone design. It was just too gosh darn funny. But the price was too high for what was, truly, a hideously ugly piece of cloth. Even if it did encapsulate the spirit of the place very tidily. Now, how about leaving me a comment or a review?


	2. Chapter 2

Two by Two by Two, Part 1b

_Cleaning, cooking, and…other matters._

_A/N: This section rated T+, verging on M (for non-graphic implied sex). Please read the rating note on Chapter 1._

* * *

River groaned with contentment as she lay back on the sofa in the lounge area.

"Go ahead, rub it in," Ip called from the kitchen, where he stood with his hands plunged into the soapy water in the sink. "Some of us have dish duty."

"Stuffed."

"I'm not listening," Ip replied. "It was your choice how much you ate. No one forced you to take a second slice of pineapple upside down cake."

"Rightside up pudding," River responded, dangling her head over the edge of the sofa and imagining that her feet were treading on the ceiling.

_Yeah, yeah, _Ip waved his hands in a gesture. "You're going to throw up if you hang upside down like that after such a big meal."

"Was thinking."

"Deep thoughts, no doubt," Ip scoffed, "about puddings and pineapples."

"About croutons."

"Croutons, River? Croutons weren't a part of the Captain's dinner."

"Wontons." River wore a smirk. Ip began to suspect that she was teasing him. "Ions. Protons. Electrons. And neutral particles," she finished.

"You've been thinking about the energetic particle data from Shadow," Ip stated, drying his hands on a dish towel as he stepped over to the sofa.

"Hot spots in an equatorial band, adjusted for deviation from true north."

"We don't really have a clear picture of the current state of Shadow's magnetosphere yet," Ip explained. "We've only just begun to analyze the data from the fly-by."

"Croutons swirling around in Shadow's magnetic field. Swarming."

"Ions," Ip corrected, being a stickler for accuracy when it came to matters having to do with his scientific experiments. "But yes, that's right. X-rays strike the planet, activate the surface materials. Pickup ions energized by the solar wind were detected by our particle detector on the fly-by. Because of all the volcanic activity on Shadow, we saw a lot of ions that wouldn't ordinarily be seen in such abundance above a terraformed planet. Species of ion derived from elements that are not common on the surface of the crust, like thorium and strontium, and isotopes like oxygen-18. We also detected increased levels of neptunium, iridium, and linthicum."

"Too much neptunium and iridium."

"Yes, it's pretty unusual. But so is the linthicum."

"Linthicum is native. Neptunium is synthetic. Iridium is exotic. From Vinidium."

"Vinidium, River?"

"Near ancient Rome. There was a young man from Vinidium," she quoted,  
"Who wore a vest made of iridium;  
When asked why the vest,  
He replied, '_Id est  
Bonum sanguinem praesidium.'"_

She paused to accentuate her point. "Exotic. And neptunium is _really_ exotic."

Ip conceded the point. "But I wouldn't call neptunium 'exotic,' River. It's a very common component of modern nuclear weaponry."

"Exactly."

"Now sit up before you lose your dinner. It's making my stomach turn just watching you hang upside down like that."

"My gastroesophageal sphincter is in very good working order, thank you," she answered haughtily, but righted herself nonetheless. "And your stomach _should_ be turning. It's a process known as chylification, an integral component of digestion."

. . .

"What's the matter, Kaylee?"

"I don't know, Simon…oh, ugh—" Kaylee vomited into the basin. She just hadn't been feeling right the whole evening. Felt like laying her head right down on the tabletop during dinner but had made the effort to eat and smile and talk because the Captain had worked so hard to make a shiny feast. To tell the truth, she hadn't been feeling right for a while. She'd been so busy fixing up machines for the last few weeks that she'd barely had time to notice, but the fact was she'd felt queasy many a time, and dead tired every evening.

Simon helped her over to the edge of the bunk, and brought her a glass of water. "Did something about the food disagree with you tonight?" Simon thought the meal was one of the finest he'd ever eaten aboard Serenity.

"No, the food was delicious, Simon. It's just—actually, I feel much better now."

"Did you feel queasy before dinner?" The physician in Simon was taking over, and wouldn't rest until he had diagnosed the problem to his satisfaction.

"Well, no, not really, not until I sat down at the table. Then I just kinda wanted to fold up and put my head down, but I tried to stay shiny for the Cap'n."

"You mean you were feeling tired?" He placed his hand on her forehead to gauge her temperature. River had been running a moderate fever since their stop on Bandiagara. He hadn't yet worked out the etiology of it, but he hoped it was just a cold, and not one of the rare, unusual diseases that he'd seen on Bandiagara.

"Simon, I been feeling tired every gorram evening for weeks. You know how hard I been workin'."

"I know, that's what you said on Bandiagara—and you _were_ working very hard; I'm not surprised you needed more rest." Simon had been working pretty hard as well, putting in long hours at the clinic, persisting even after Serenity ran out of medicines to dispense. He could still do surgery, and still make diagnoses, and still give advice, and he did, right up until lift off. The Bandiagarans' need for a doctor was so great. If he hadn't been working so hard himself, he might have noticed Kaylee's fatigue sooner. "But the big push to put together machines ended five days ago, when you ran out of parts to assemble. Mal let you off the hook in loading up cargo, to give you a rest. So you're saying you're _still_ tired?"

"Yes. I'm still tired." She tried not to snap at him. She just wanted to sleep. "Just need to re-charge the batteries."

But Simon was thinking, and this didn't seem like a case of simply re-charging batteries. "Kaylee, will you please come to the infirmary? I think we'd better run some tests."

. . .

The wave was for Captain Reynolds. The caller, a middle-aged man with an overbearing manner but kind eyes, waited with barely concealed impatience while she checked. River put the caller on hold, freezing sound and visuals, while she flipped open a direct connection to Inara's shuttle, where she knew the Captain was—_whoa! _She nearly cried aloud. She pulled back rapidly, seared by the intensity of his passion, an embarrassed, unintentional witness of an extremely private moment of sensation. She blew out a few breaths, fanning herself, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart and willing the blood to settle back down from her flushed faced. She re-opened the vid channel. "The Captain is _not_ available at the moment," she said. "Would you like to speak with the First Officer, Mr Holden?"

. . .

Stars burst before his eyes as he rode seismic waves of sensation, that washed him over the crest, once, and again in an aftershock, gasping, shuddering, collapsing.

"我的天啊 Wǒ de tiān ā, Inara—that thing—that thing you did—what the hell was that?"

A silver laugh escaped Inara's lips. "You really aren't very experienced, are you, Mal?" It was kindly and affectionately said.

Maybe he should get annoyed, with her pointing up his "inexperience" like that—it weren't like he was some lily-pure—oh, hell with it. He just felt too gorram good to argue the point. 'Sides, didn't think he was capable of moving a muscle just at the present moment. That thing she did…

Anyways, it was true. He could count on one hand—well, okay, two—the number of sexual partners he'd had in his lifetime. Of course, he weren't about to admit it to Inara, whose number of partners had to measure in the triple digits, at least. 鬼 Guǐ no, didn't want to think about _that_. Was better off thinking about his own _inexperience_, as she put it.

It wasn't that he'd wanted to spend all those nights alone. He'd held romantical notions, as a teenager, of "saving it for marriage." As a kid, his momma—always the English teacher before she was a rancher—had fed him a diet of classic literature in which honorable men and virtuous women saved it for marriage, or paid the price for jumping the gun. Shepherd MacLeod of the Northside Church on Shadow had reinforced the idea with fiery sermons that made a deep impression on Malcolm at the time. Sometime in his late teens, his hormones got the better of his brain and he'd tossed that romantical "saving" notion to the winds. Still, he'd never treated sex as a casual thing, and the whole idea of one-night stands didn't hold much appeal for him. If he was going to do it, he wanted it to mean something.

It _had_ meant something, with one particular young woman who'd been his steady girlfriend back home, before. Then the war came, he'd joined the army, she'd stayed on Shadow—and he never saw her again. They'd corresponded. He'd even worked himself up into thinking he'd ask her to marry him if ever he got home on leave. But home leave never came, the fighting got more desperate, and finally the rug got pulled from under the whole edifice of his being at Serenity Valley, leaving him with no home, no family, no fiancée, no faith, no nothing. Even if he could have gone home, he'd changed beyond recognition.

There were people who figured the whole army experience was one of licentious debauchery—what else would you expect, young men and women thrown together in the circumstances of live-today-for-tomorrow-we-die? He'd been tempted to have a bit of fun that way, early on, but in the main his soldiering experience weren't really like that. The women in his unit were comrades-in-arms first of all, and their gender was secondary. The bond they formed working together to save each other's 屁股 pìgu under fire trumped any other bond. He'd heard it said the war buddy bond was a tough nut to crack. It was true. If you'd come through hell together, it didn't make no matter if the one who helped you through hell was a woman or a man. You were just gorram grateful you weren't still there in hell.

The other matter was that Mal hadn't actually spent much time in the army as a private. Promotion had come early. Before he knew it he was a sergeant, responsible for the men and women under his command. It weren't fitting for a sergeant to have relations with anyone under his command. A man of honor knew better than to press his advantage with someone beholden to him. After the defeat, the internment camp weren't no place for intimate relations of any kind, even if he hadn't been so damn broken at that point, a hollow shell of himself. When he got Serenity, started building a new life, a crew, a family of sorts—well, then he was the Captain, and it was the same gorram thing about relations with anyone who looked to him for their livelihood. And they weren't dirtside long enough for him to form a meaningful relationship with someone who weren't beholden. Even supposin' he weren't too shattered to form a meaningful relationship at all. So he'd fallen a few times for less meaningful relationships—he was only a human being, after all—but not so much, because afterwards it just felt wrong.

He realized, of course, on some level, that all that was just an excuse—that he could have found the time, could have made the opportunity. But to do that would have been to acknowledge his losses, admit the past hurts, feel the pain, and most of his adult life he'd kept that door firmly shut. Wash had told him he had intimacy issues, and he knew it was true, though nothing would have made him say so. It was Inara who found the chink in the wall.

Inara came into his life, and things changed. She wasn't crew. She wasn't a passenger. She was an independent businesswoman who rented his shuttle. She didn't have to obey his orders. She never did obey his orders, gorrammit. She had a choice. She could leave. _She could leave. _And she had chosen to stay.

"I guess I ain't." That indescribable feeling still echoed throughout his body. He rolled over onto his side and collapsed bonelessly into a puddle around Inara. "Reckon 'm glad you are," he murmured as sleep took him.

. . .

.

.

.

_Id est bonum sanguinem praesidium. _[It's bloody good protection. (Latin)]

我的天啊 Wǒ de tiān ā [Oh god]

鬼 Guǐ [God, lit. ghost]

屁股 pìgu [asses]

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

Two by Two by Two, Part 2a

_Mal has a good day, and that makes Zoe worried. Meanwhile, Simon looks for zebras._

Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1. This section rated T.

* * *

Simon ran a complete battery of diagnostic tests on Kaylee's blood sample. Influenza, food poisoning, leukemia, acute radiation poisoning—he didn't want to think about that possibility, there was no possible treatment for it out here in the Black. She'd need a bone marrow transplant at a well-equipped hospital. More likely were anemia, depression, mononucleosis, hypothyroidism, chronic fatigue syndrome. Of course, given the kinds of diseases he had seen on Bandiagara, he couldn't discount the possibility that Kaylee had onchocerciasis, malaria, trypanosomiasis or even yellow fever—no matter that these diseases were considered extinct in the Core. He added those to his diagnostic test list. And if he was considering those dinosaurs—well, he might as well consider a few zebras as well.

"Zebras?" Kaylee asked, curiously.

Simon hadn't realized he'd been thinking aloud.

"It's something they used to say in medical school. About keeping your perspective. You study all these crazy, rare diseases, and forget that sneezing probably means a common cold virus, not a diaphragmatic migraine. 'When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.' But I've eliminated the horses. So maybe it's time to think zebras."

Kaylee's mood had vastly improved—it had swung the other way, in fact. "That'd be funny. I could wave my folks. 'Mom, Dad, I caught a zebra on Bandiagara.' They'd say, 'A big zebra or a little one?' I'd tell 'em, 'Oh, it's just a little one.' My mom would ask, 'And Cap'n Reynolds let you keep it?' 'Cause, you know, I'm always tellin' her how the Cap'n won't let me keep a puppy or nothin', so I'd tell her, 'Well, it's small, and he's kinda gettin' used to the pitter-patter of little hoofs on Serenity…'"

"That's it!" Simon exclaimed. "I am an idiot!"

"Whaddya mean, Simon?" Kaylee asked in surprise. "And you ain't an idiot."

"I should have thought of this first, only I…" Simon mumbled, as he ran another test on the sample.

"Should have thought of what?" Kaylee asked suspiciously.

"I couldn't see it, I was so sure it was impossible, but it makes sense, it's just so…" Simon realized he was babbling, and in front of Kaylee, too. It wasn't appropriate. He tried to resume his physicianly manner, but—but this was his _girlfriend._ More than just a girlfriend, she was—

"Simon, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I mean, I think nothing is wrong."

"You mean ta say, I'm just peachy? That this is all in my head?" Kaylee grew angry. "'Cause it ain't all in my head! I really _am_ tired. I really _am_ queasy. I ain't makin' it up! And you just better—" She stopped. Simon was bent over the diagnostic unit, looking at the test results with an indescribable look on his face. "What?" she said, suddenly concerned. "What is it, Simon?"

He turned to her, and his face broke into a broad smile. "You're pregnant."

. . .

Mal entered the bridge, whistling a cheerful tune, and sat down in the co-pilot seat. Zoe looked up from her seat at the flight desk. Mal looked…happy. Contented. This was so unusual that Zoe redoubled her look, searching his face intently. He didn't look ill, or delirious, or crazy—or no crazier than usual, anyway.

What he did look was thoroughly, completely, happy and contented, and this was so strange that Zoe was concerned.

"Havin' a good day, sir?" she ventured.

"Yup," he answered, and took up whistling again.

"You alright, sir?"

"Fine, Zoe. What, is there a problem?"

"You're whistling."

"Am I? Guess I'm just feelin' cheersome, is all." He started up his tune again, but stopped at her look. "What? Can't a fella be cheersome?"

"Oh, anytime. It's just…" This was so strange. Zoe never had to spell things out like this for Mal. "I've known you a long time, sir, and you ain't whistled a cheersome tune since '07."

The early days of the war. When there was still hope. Before things really went south. "Guess there hasn't been much to make me cheersome since '07." He turned to the flight desk and, by habit, flipped the three check switches, but even alluding to the war and the dark days that followed hadn't dampened his mood. A smile graced his features, and he nearly started whistling again, but checked himself when he noticed Zoe lookin' sideways at him.

Now Zoe was really concerned. "Somethin' happen to make you all cheersome, sir?"

He didn't answer, just smiled, content, satisfied and a little bit smug.

"Good sex, sir?" She didn't expect him to answer.

But he did. "Better than good." His smile widened. "_Great_ sex."

He paid no mind to Zoe's astonished expression—she was not astonished that he and Inara were having great sex, mind; she was astonished that he was willing to _say_ it. He _had_ changed since the start of his relationship with Inara, no doubt about it. He looked directly at Zoe. "Best ever. And that's sayin' something, 'cause it started out great. But ever since Bandiagara…" he trailed off, and his smile took on a dreamy quality.

"What happened on Bandiagara, sir?"

He looked around, making sure they were quite alone. "Zoe, I asked her to marry me."

Zoe looked him in the eye. They would've told the whole crew if Inara had said yes outright. What had made him so happy? "She didn't say yes," she stated, certain of her correct assessment.

"She didn't say no," Mal returned.

So that was it! Zoe knew—it was the return of hope that had Mal so cheerful.

"She didn't say no," he repeated. "She said, later." He paused for a breath. "Zoe, I can live on that for a long time. Knowing that one day, she'll make me happy."

"Looks like she already has."

He nodded, and smiled again. Zoe thought the conversation—already abnormally long for the two of them—was over, but after a thoughtful moment, Mal said, more tentatively, "Zoe, when you…let me know if I'm outta line here, mentioning this…when you and Wash first…got together, did you…" he trailed off.

"Did we what, sir?"

"I guess what I'm wonderin' is, did I put a dampener on your, uh, joy, you know—? Well, I know I was pretty much an ornery 王八蛋 wángbādàn about the whole thing, especially right in the beginning, you two bein' together, and all fine and shiny, and me still caught in a dark hole and wantin' to drag everybody in it with me…"

Zoe was amazed to hear him talk. In all these years, never—

"I guess what I'm sayin'," Mal continued, "is sorry if I rained on your sunny day. You deserved every bit of shiny you ever had with Wash, and I shouldn'ta been interfering." He stopped and looked at her, hoping that talking out loud hadn't spoiled their unspoken communication. _Can you forgive me for that?_ he asked with his look.

_Of course,_ her look said. _Ain't like we paid much attention to your interference._ Oops, she hadn't meant to telegraph that thought—Mal was sensitive about his authority—

"Oh, hell, Zoe, that don't make no nevermind. I always known where I stood with you—and with Wash, too, for the most part. That all Captain-y thing is for the benefit of the others—well, for Jayne. And Simon. Jayne especially."

"Actually, sir," Zoe said, getting back to the subject, "we worried that we were being insensitive, all wrapped up in ourselves, when you had so many sorrows to deal with. We worried about you bein' all lonesome."

"Wash worried about me bein' by my lonesome?" Mal said, with a wicked glint in his eye.

"Well, point of fact, it was me who—"

"That was big of him," Mal continued, bantering. "Too bad he didn't share."

"I wouldn'ta stood for it, sir. Woulda busted your face, if he shared himself with you."

"That is _not_ what I meant—" Mal sputtered, but he wasn't really indignant at all. It was like old times, seeing Zoe like this. He smiled again, then asked a serious question. "So it's really…you're alright, with me gettin' together with Inara, and…" _getting some_, he couldn't quite say, "while you…" _and Wash are parted, and can't have that no more?_

"Mal, I am alright with it. Wash and I had six years together, five of them married. You had those same six years of lonesome. Well, mostly lonesome. I don't begrudge you your months of shiny. 'Bout time." She didn't want to rain on _his _sunny day. But she had something serious to say. "Cherish it."

Mal looked intently at her, understanding that she was talking about herself as much as advising him.

"Cherish it," Zoe repeated, "'cause you never know when it's gonna get snatched away."

"I will," he promised. His pledge to do so was about as much comfort as Zoe would accept from him, he knew, but he added, "I know _you_ did."

They were silent for a moment as memories of Wash—differentmemories for each of them—filled their heads. Mal thought their conversation—already wordier than any they'd had in years—was ended. Well-ended, too, with Zoe lifted out of her grief for a spell, and finding a bit of peace. The good mood still pervaded his being, despite the serious interval, and he was hard pressed not to smile again, only it didn't seem fitting after such a moment of solemnity.

Zoe pulled herself away from the memories of how she cherished Wash, and how he cherished _her_, surprised to find that the shininess of the recollections overbalanced the ache of loss—at least at present. She gathered her strength and turned the focus back onto her friend. This good mood of his was rare enough, she ought to follow up on it, as far as she could. She gave him a smile. "Does wonders for your mood, gettin' laid regular."

She expected Mal to clam up and keep his counsel, but it seemed the good mood was here to stay. He opened up, and gave her a broad smile. "Sure does. Reckon I know why Wash was such a cheerful fellow."

She mock-punched him on the shoulder. "嘿 Hēi!" he exclaimed, and punched her right back. Then a horrified look crossed his face. "Sorry, Zoe, I shouldn't oughtta be hittin' a pregnant lady."

"What, that little flea-swat?" she replied. "Gonna have ta try harder, you want to call that hittin' on me."

"Oh, so you want I should hit on you?"

"Inara wouldn't like it, she found out you're hittin' on me."

"What she don't know…" he began, with a suggestive look.

"Look at you flirt!" Zoe exclaimed, swatting at him. "Who'd a thunk it? You shoulda started gettin' laid regular years ago."

"I thought of it, but Wash wouldn't cooperate. Said you'd kill him with your pinky." Mal chuckled as Zoe snorted with laughter. "And I didn't want a busted face," he added quickly.

They both snorted with laughter.

"What?" Mal said, attuned to the look on Zoe's face.

"Just seems strange, sir, to hear you talkin' about sex like this."

"Ain't nothin' wrong with talkin' about it. Not like it's unnatural, or sinful, or—"

"You see, that's just it."

"What's just it?"

"You wouldn't never have said nothin' like that, just a few years ago."

"Just a few years ago, I wasn't gettin' enough to know was it natural or not. All's I could say was it was _rare_."

"And why was it so gorram rare, huh?" she asked, keeping the mood light. _Don't go wallowing in the sorrows, sir. _"Not like there weren't any women who wanted you. You just wouldn't have them."

"I didn't want no casual flings."

She arched her eyebrows at him. _And what about—?_

"Oh, alright, I didn't want 'em much. 'Cept when I did." He ducked out of the way as Zoe threw another punch his direction. "Kept lookin' for the real thing. Not so easy when we'd spend no more 'n a few hours dirtside, half of 'em gettin' shot at."

"The real thing. Uh-huh," Zoe replied. "That's you, Mr Saving-it-for-marriage."

"I wasn't saving it for marriage!"

"—or near as makes no nevermind."

Mal grinned. Zoe knew him too well to be fooled by any of his horseplay.

"You know, in some ways, you ain't changed much from when I first met you, all them years ago, at the beginning of the war."

"Oh, ain't I?" he challenged. _Keep it light. 'Cause in other ways I changed so much it hurts._

"I remember when you first come to the platoon as a raw recruit, straight from Puritan World—I mean, Shadow."

"'Puritan World'," he repeated, in mock indignation.

"Oh yeah, all you Shadow folk were so straight-laced, and you were the straightest arrow of them all."

"I—" he began to protest.

"No sexin', no drinkin', no cussin'—"

"Did too!"

"'Dawg gone' ain't a cuss word, sir."

"You can't—"

"Reckon I should tell Jayne, how you used to think half a glass of beer constituted drinkin'—"

"Full glass," interrupted Mal.

"Full glass," Zoe allowed. "You thought one beer constituted serious drinkin'. But never no liquor, oh no, not for Mr Lily Pure."

"Shut up, Zoe, weren't never no lily pure—"

"'Oh, I can't go with y'all to that burlesque place'," she imitated the young Mal, "'might be drinkin', might be naked ladies there, I'm savin' it for—'"

"Shut. Up. And I weren't savin' it for marriage. Just bein' faithful to my girl back home. Mindy and I done it, lots of—"

"Two virgins pure, never had nobody but each other—"

"Ain't true! And no, really, Mindy weren't my first."

"Really? I been with you all these years, and there's still something new to learn about you. You're a close one."

"Hmm."

There was a pregnant pause. "Out with it," she ordered.

"什么 Shénme?"

"Come on, spit it out. Tell me the story."

"What story?"

"Your first time."

"Oh, hell no. Ain't much to tell."

Zoe waited. She could wear him down. And did.

"Alright, alright. I was eighteen. Hormones were raging. Felt like I was the only male virgin in my high school graduating class." He thought for a moment. "Probably was."

Zoe prodded him with another look.

"Only good-looking one, anyhow."

Zoe snorted. "You ain't gonna side-track me, sir. Get on with it."

"Well, Lola Adhona figured it out. She come after me, all nice and friendly, started workin' me over, first with the kissin', then with the touchin', and then with the—you know."

"You mean you seduced her."

"I—no!—" he sputtered. "She—she seduced—she was a—" he pulled up short.

"Whore?" Zoe offered, brows arched.

"I don't know that word," Mal said quickly. "But no, Lola wasn't that. She was a slut. Turned out she made a habit of chasin' down the boys, one by one, takin' 'em like trophies. Near broke my heart when I found out I wasn't—"

"Her one and only?"

"That's right. My ma wasn't so sympathetic. Told me I shoulda known better than to waste my treasure on a girl like that. Ma wasn't so displeased with the outcome, howsomever."

"And what outcome was that?"

"Oh, I moped and pined and lamented for the best part of a year. Wouldn't look at another girl. Not 'til I met Mindy, my second year of correspondence courses at the Ag School."

"And how did you meet her?"

"We had to go to Edmunds City to sit our exams. She was in the same exam room as me, and afterwards we talked."

"Just talked?" she asked pointedly.

"Absolutely _just talked._ What kind of loose 堕落的 duòluòde you think I—" He saw she was tweaking him.

She waited for him to tell the rest of the story.

"She lived in another part of Shadow, farside of Alpin, point of fact. Our paths weren't like to intersect. But two weeks later, I saw her again."

She gave him another suggestive look. He bit.

"_At church_," he said pointedly. "At the Northside United Family Christian Church. She'd come to stay the summer with relatives on the Northside. So we got better acquainted. Not like _that,_" he scoffed, rolling his eyes at Zoe's expression. "You have got a smutty mind. Proper-like. A while later, she came to work at a nearby ranch, and after, we started courting."

"And your ma—?"

"Approved. Mindy was the kind of girl Ma approved of. Not nobody had nothing to say against us courting, as all looked to be headed in the proper direction. And it would've, too. War hadn't come along, like as not, I'd still be livin' on the ranch, married to Mindy and makin' grandbabies for my Ma."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

王八蛋 wángbādàn [son of a bitch]

嘿 Hēi [Hey]

什么 Shénme [Pardon me]

堕落的 duòluòde [reprobate]

* * *

_A/N: I had fun writing the Mal / Zoe scene, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. What did you think of Mal's good mood? Disconcerting? If you heard Mal whistling, would you react like Zoe did? And what about Kaylee?_


	4. Chapter 4

Two by Two by Two, Part 2b

_Simon shares some news with Kaylee, and the Captain sits Ip down for a nice, friendly chat._

Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1.

This section rated T.

* * *

"I'm pregnant?" Kaylee said, incredulously.

"Yes, you certainly are." Simon felt nervous. He was smiling like a jackass. He was unsure how Kaylee felt about this development, but he just couldn't wipe the smile off his face.

"Are you…happy?" she said at last.

He was still smiling. "Yeah." He looked at her, realized she needed more reassurance. "I'm _very _happy."

"But you said you weren't ready yet—that you only wanted two kids, far, far in the future."

Simon was ready to kick himself for saying that, in front of the whole crew, in front of Kaylee—but she had shocked him that time by her enthusiastic declaration that _six_ kids would not be too many for her_. _"Well," he said nervously, "I guess I don't have a choice now, do I? I'm going to be a father soon, whether I want to or not." Kaylee's face fell, and he immediately realized he'd said the wrong thing. He folded her in his arms, kissing her forehead and hair, as her tears fell. "I'm going to be a father," he whispered to her, "and it's going to be the best thing that ever happened to me, besides being with you."

He'd said the right thing, for a change. Kaylee's sobs subsided, turned into hiccoughs. She was still crying, but these were happy tears. They held each other, swaying slowly together in the middle of the infirmary, for a while.

"Ya know, I'm kinda in shock myself," she finally said.

"Didn't you know, somehow, on some level?" he asked, unable to let go of his physicianly side. "You must have noticed that you missed your cycle."

She thought it over seriously. "No," she finally answered. "I didn't notice. Ya know, I had a friend, back home, could set a clock by her cycles, they was so regular. She could tell you three years ahead, to the day and nearly to the minute, when she was going to start her courses. But my cycles ain't so regular, Simon. They never have been. They been as short as 21 days and as long as 38. Ain't no predicting 'em."

"And how long has it been this time?"

She thought for a moment, and a 'gee whiz' expression crossed her face. "45 days, Simon. 天啊 Tiān ā, I shoulda known. I just wasn't payin' attention. 'Cause I been so tired." She amended, "'Cause I been so pregnant." She laughed, and Simon joined in, holding her and swaying in unison. "You know," Kaylee ventured after a while, "I never stopped using protection. I don't know how this happened."

"Contraceptives are never one hundred percent effective," Simon replied. "And, you know, I've been using the contraceptives, too, of course. Right from our very first time. I really don't see…" He trailed off, as wheels began to turn inside his head. Dates, first dates, conception dates, expiration dates…

"Do you want to tell the others?"

She was thoughtful. "Not yet. Simon, I want to keep this just between us for a while. Get used to the idea. 'Til it feels…real. I don't think the Cap'n'll mind—I mean, Zoe's baby's gonna be here first, so it's not like he can say somethin' about nobody havin' babies on his boat, but I don't want—"

"I have to tell Mal," Simon said abruptly.

"No, you don't, Simon," Kaylee replied in a determined voice. "This ain't none of his business. And he ain't my daddy. Just 'cause he's the Captain don't mean he needs to know this now."

"He does need to know this. And he needs to know it now." Simon's voice was equally determined.

"He don't need to know it now! Just 'cause he's the Captain—"

"Not because he's the Captain. Because he's my patient."

. . .

Zoe filled Mal in on Buck Holden's call. Holden had another cargo for them to pick up on Beaumonde, and had been delighted to learn they were already headed his way. They knew, without Holden stating outright, that it was another perfectly legal cover cargo for another concealed cache of corporate espionage—a highly lucrative and potentially dangerous gig. It was just what they needed. Holden had been intrigued by Zoe's hints that they carried items of interest to him, and although, in Zoe's judgment, Holden wouldn't want to touch the timonium himself, he was likely in a good position to know who might do the deal. Holden, of course, would have nothing to do with their Bandiagaran vegetables. Illegal landing, illegal trade, illegal cargo, and defiance of every agricultural restriction aimed at controlling the spread of plant pests and crop diseases—Holden boys wouldn't touch it. Mal and Zoe needed to find a black market produce broker—and fast, before their cargo spoiled. If they couldn't, then the fruits of their labors would be fit for nothing more than the making of Kaylee's engine hooch.

. . .

Mal knew he had put off this discussion for far too long. He hadn't forgotten that he'd seen Ip and River kissing by the firelight in Bandiagara. He'd talked to River—not to interfere, mind—she had a brother who was perfectly capable of interfering in his younger sister's romantic life—just an attempt to warn an innocent girl about men in general and what evil, lecherous humps they were. River had turned the tables on him, and made _him_ feel more uncomfortable than he'd been in a long time. Girl didn't need no warning about what was in a man's mind when he looked at a pretty young woman. She _knew_.

But if River wasn't worried, Mal still was. It took two to tango, and he hadn't yet confronted Ip about his intentions toward River. Girl thought she knew all about it—and, in a theoretical way, she did—but Mal was not convinced that she would be her own best counsel in such matters. She didn't see the danger in playing with fire, because she'd never yet been burned. Had suffered in so many ways, pain beyond even what he could imagine—and he could imagine plenty—but she hadn't had her heart crushed. Hadn't been burned that way, at least. And he hoped she never would.

He found Ip in the dining area lounge, working on his scientific papers—it was the man's favorite leisure-time activity, and he loved to do it in the common areas of the ship, like he enjoyed the constant interruptions from others on the crew. Mal approached him, and Ip looked up and smiled a greeting. Mal could tell the young doc was about to open his mouth, no doubt to begin another nice friendly round of "grill the Captain," but Mal pre-empted his question with one of his own.

"What are your views on River, Dr Ip?"

Ip looked up, a bit startled. "My 'views'?"

Mal made it clear that he would brook no nonsense. "That's what I said."

The Captain had taken Ip by surprise, so he took a moment to think. What were his views on River? A smart, fascinating, intellectually gifted young woman. A very young woman. Comfortable around people much older than herself, but young nonetheless. Acted sometimes with the maturity of a twenty-five-year-old—perfect for him. But sometimes acted no older than the almost-nineteen that she was. Too young for him. And definitely not normal.

Not-normal he could deal with. In fact, it didn't even bother him at all. He'd gone to Harcliffe University, a premier Core educational institution. Most of the students there were "not normal" in one way or another—they were gifted, extraordinary, they stuck out. In the lives they'd come from, many of them were unusual, one-of-a-kind—the only kid in their high school who actually finished _The Brothers Karamazov_ cover-to-cover, the only kid who decided to skip the senior prom in favor of going to the Science Fair to give a talk about their research project. There were students who couldn't read a social situation to save their lives (he was one of them), but whose academic intelligence was unquestionable. At Harcliffe, these outliers fit in, and Ip found nothing disconcerting about not-normal. He was of the opinion that the perfectly normal was, in fact, very rare indeed.

But River's not-normal was an outlier even on the Harcliffe scale. He recalled the strange hour spent in the park on Persephone, while he fended off curious strangers with a cock-and-bull story about River having been brain-damaged in a hovercraft accident, to explain her fixed stare and frozen attitude, while she, apparently, listened to voices in her head. Then she snapped out of it, ran through the park like an ordinary teenager, and kissed him. (Yeah, kissed him.) Right, and then there was the strange hour spent with the Tam siblings on the way to Bandiagara, with Simon—whom he had thought perfectly sane—rattling on about Blue Sun special operatives and secret experiments on River's brain, while River drifted strangely in and out of the conversation, talking about herself in the third person. Then she danced with him on Bandiagara, and they kissed again. Nice. He'd noticed, of course, that River's talk was sometimes cryptic, like she was spinning riddles or reciting poetry, but others on Serenity—the Captain in particular—seemed to make sense of the stream-of-consciousness musings, and took them in stride. Ip found that sometimes, when he applied himself and paid very close attention, what sounded superficially like nonsense was, in fact, deep and meaningful, and often, witty. He just couldn't always keep up. "I like her," he said at last, "but she's an odd bird."

"She ain't a bird," the Captain responded.

"You call her 'Albatross'," Ip returned, without missing a beat.

Mal was taken aback. He couldn't deny it. He did call River 'Albatross'—which was, as Ip correctly pointed out, a bird. He also couldn't believe it—did that scientist just have the gumption to call him on that? Mal wasn't gonna let Ip off so easy. "Sure do. She's the ship's good luck. Won't let nothing bad happen to her," he said, with a warning look. He gave it a beat, then added, "You were with River after dinner. Alone. And what did you do?"

"We talked," Ip answered readily. He noticed the Captain's disbelieving look. "I like her," Ip repeated, "to talk to."

To _talk to?_ What kind of man sat in company with a pretty girl—a girl who apparently was perfectly willing to take things a bit farther than talking—and…_just talked?_ Mal wasn't buying it, so he folded his arms and fixed Ip with a death stare and waited for him to crack.

Ip stared back, cluelessly.

Mal shifted his stance, casually threatening. "You talked," he interrogated, never breaking eye contact. "And what did you talk about?"

"Particle detectors," Ip replied easily, "and Shadow's magnetosphere. You see, we noticed some anomalies in the energetic particle composition of Shadow's magnetosphere, some inconsistencies, even when you take into consideration the tremendous amount of volcanic activity. There was excess linthicum, naturally, but also increased iridium and neptunium. It was River who pointed out that it was the neptunium that we should be focusing on. She also had some ideas for reconfiguring the detector, if we were ever to have the opportunity to make another fly-by. Captain, if we…" He noticed the Captain seemed lost in thought, and, mentally berating himself for bringing up the painful subject of Shadow, he switched tracks. "River had an idea for analyzing the magnetospheric data. She came up with an equation…"

_Good lord, the man is serious,_ Mal thought, as he let the waves of technobabble wash past him. The man finds himself alone with a pretty girl, an _interested_ pretty girl, and his line is—_energetic particle detectors?_ Sheesh. And Mal thought _he'd_ come up with some pretty lame lines in his time.

"…because she's really more of a pure math person, even though this is an applied math situation. I told her that," Ip finished, finally. He looked at the Captain, and realized for the first time that the man hadn't followed his explanation of the mathematics at all.

'_You're a pure math person, in an applied math situation,' _Mal thought. _Way to turn a girl on_. _Hafta try that line myself, on Inara,_ he thought with an internal snort of derision. Now his wonder was more, how had Ip _ever_ managed to get to first base? But that didn't alter the fact that he had, and Mal wasn't going to let that slide by. "You and River been kissing. What are your views?" In this context the question became loaded.

Ip smiled a bit, gave a half shrug. "River seems to like kissing me."

Mal wasn't gonna believe that it was just the girl instigating this, not for a minute. "Oh, and you're pretending you didn't enjoy it?" he challenged.

"Oh, alright," Ip admitted, smiling still. "Yes, I did enjoy it."

"So what are your intentions?" Mal demanded.

"Captain, she's my friend. I like her. I don't know that either of us has any intentions…"

Mal had heard that line. Life was full of unintended consequences. Didn't mean a man couldn't easily anticipate what his actions led to. And in his experience, kissing led to touching, which led to—you know. "Well, maybe you better figure out what your intentions are. What her intentions are."

"Captain, that seems premature. We're both just happy being friends, getting to know one another in a friendly way—"

"—_Kissing_," Mal inserted pointedly.

"And haven't you ever kissed a friend?"

Mal swallowed, keeping his face set and hard. He had to admit it—but only to himself, _not_ to Ip—he _had_ kissed a friend. And it didn't mean nothin' more than friendship. Friends. A man and a woman _could_ be friends; it didn't have to go no farther than that. "If your intention is to be her friend, best be sure you really are her friend. Take care of her as a friend should, and watch her back."

The Captain turned and headed for the bridge. Ip was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he turned back and spoke again. "And if you _ever_ do anything unfriendly to her," he warned, with an intimidating air, "recognize that River has some true friends on this boat. Ones as will _always_ watch her back."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

天啊 Tiān ā [Oh god]

* * *

_A/N: And what do you think about how Mal handled The Talk? Does Ip remind you of anyone you know? Because he sure does remind me… "To talk to" indeed._


	5. Chapter 5

Two by Two by Two, Part 3a

_Inara needs to work._

Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1.

This section rated T+, verging on M, for violence and strong language.

* * *

Inara sat in her shuttle, fiddling with her daily planner on the cortex. Her _empty_ daily planner. She might as well get a monthly planner, as her work was so infrequent these days. She thought about the last few months. They'd gone from Beaumonde to 尘球 Chén Qiú, a filthy dustball of a planet with only one town on it worthy of the name. The only thing it had going for it was that it was a step up from their next stop, 泥球 Ní Qiú, a world remarkable for the sea of mud surrounding the shanty town that formed its principal settlement. They'd stopped in Persephone, and she had seen a few clients there, but quickly they headed off to Beylix, the 'garbage dump of the Kalidasa system.' Then they traveled to Bandiagara, a Rim world so remote and insignificant that even other Rim-worlders didn't pay it much attention. It was also under exclusive contract to Blue Sun for all imports and exports, and their landing there was completely illegal. She couldn't schedule clients there even had there been suitable candidates, because how would she explain how she had arrived? Tell them she had taken a Blue Sun passenger transport? That would be a lie, and one that was easily detected. Tell them the truth—that she had come on an illicit cargo vessel? Tell them she simply dropped out of the sky?

She was not hurting for funds—yet—but she felt very much at loose ends when she was not working. She was not so much of a career woman as to have no life beyond the workplace, but still, she felt that her professional life was wholly integrated into her identity. It wasn't who she was, entirely, but it was a core element. It was a central strand, and when she was cut off from her work, she felt that part of herself was missing. She needed to work. She really needed to talk to Mal.

. . .

"Mal, I need to know when and where our next planetfall will be, so that I can schedule some clients."

He looked at her with a twinkling smile in his eye. "Well, we're headed toward Beaumonde, darlin'. That suit you? Or do you need something more upscale?"

"Well, Beaumonde will do, but if it's not too far out of the way…"

He did some quick calculations at the bridge console. "Bernadette is within range—could get there in two weeks' time. Or if you want to go all out, we could make Londinium in three weeks."

She felt a thrill. "Londinium! I haven't been there in at least three years. That would be perfect!" She leaned over and gave him a kiss.

"How long you need planetside to conduct your business?"

She knew he liked to keep planetside stops relatively brief, so she scaled back her request. "Three weeks?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled brilliantly. "Perfect. Monty gave me the name of a guy who deals in tech products on Londinium. Three weeks would give me enough time to meet and greet, clinch the contract, and load up."

She gave him another kiss and settled into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and held her against his chest. "Thank you, Mal."

"Inara?"

"Yes, darling?"

"When you got your schedule worked out, let me know. I was thinking we could add an extra day. Just for us."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I heard there's a new exhibit opening up at the Londinium Museum of Modern Art. I could get tickets. Then I was thinkin' we could go shopping—"

"Oh, Mal! That's just what I'd like. I need some new outfits, and shoes—"

"I'll carry all your packages, and you can pick out a nice 阿曼妮 Āmànnī suit for me—"

"Are you in funds?"

"Absolutely, Inara. We're flush right now. Legal cargo is pretty gorram lucrative. And then, I want to take you to dinner at Claverley's Blanchisserie—"

"Oh, Mal—but can you get a reservation? I've heard the wait for a table can be months—"

"Not a problem, Inara," he said with a wink. "I have an 'in' with the chef and owner. And after dinner, maybe we could go dancing—"

"Dancing!" she said delightedly.

"Or, if you'd rather, I'll pick up some tickets for the Opera. It's your call, darlin'."

"I love this plan, Mal. You are just 绝对的天才 juéduì de tīancái when it comes to plans. This has got to be one of your best plans ever."

He smiled brilliantly at her. "No more than you deserve, 宝贝 bǎobèi. I'd do a lot more than that to ensure your happiness and success. Now you get on the cortex and fix up lots of appointments. I'll be waitin' for you to get home from work."

She kissed him long and deeply, and they made passionate and ecstatic love right there on the bridge.

. . .

Well. _That _was not going to happen. Inara huffed, willing the fire in her loins to simmer down. Mal shopping for shoes? Smilingly wishing her success with her clients? Cheerfully taking her to Londinium, the core of the Core? She had to laugh at herself. What a lot of 废话 fèihuà her overheated imagination came up with!

Still, she needed to talk to Mal.

. . .

"Mal, what's our destination?"

"Beaumonde."

"And when will we get there?"

"Ten days. Why do you ask?"

"I want to schedule some work while I'm—"

"Gorrammit, Inara! Can't you go anywhere without spreading?"

"That's really coarse, Mal."

"And what you do ain't?"

"Mal, I will not take this from you. You've shared my bed. Is what we do together coarse?"

"What we do together is what you shouldn't be doin' with nobody else! Why do you want to see clients? What's the matter? I'm not good enough for you?"

She huffed out her breath. It was just like him to make it personal—to see it all in reference to himself. Egotistical 混蛋 húndàn. It had _nothing_ to do with him. "They're just _clients_, Mal. You're my lover."

"I'm having trouble seeing the distinction here."

"They pay," she said acidly. "You don't."

"You want I should pay, then?"

"Mal! Of course not!"

"Well, I don't want to be your charity case."

"You're behaving like a child."

"No, I'm behaving like a man who don't want his woman sellin' herself to the highest bidder."

"I am _not_ 'your woman.' I am my own woman."

He grabbed her roughly and pulled her in for a hard, unpleasant kiss. "You _are _my woman! _Mine_. And I don't share with the rich 他妈的 操的 混帐 tāmādē cào de hún zhàng of Beaumonde! Nor anyplace else!"

She tried to pull away. "Let go of me, Mal."

"Ain't lettin' you go." His grip was a chokehold. "You belong to me. _Me._ 懂吗 Dǒng ma? I won't let you be a 他妈的 tāmādē whore."

Her airway was constricted. She could barely breathe. Still she struggled. "It's my life, Mal. It's _my _choice," she hissed.

"I'd rather see you dead than see you whoring!" His grip tightened. "该死 Gāisǐ, Inara! I'll see you in 地狱 dìyù before I let you 操 cào for coin!"

She couldn't breathe. His hands pressed harder and harder into her throat. Black spots clouded the edges of her vision, and stars exploded across her view. She didn't have much time left. She pulled the knife out of its concealed place, and plunged it into his chest, with a hard upward thrust between the fourth and fifth ribs, as she'd been taught.

His eyes went wide with shock and his grip slackened. He collapsed to the floor as the life's blood pumped out of his heart in hot, red spurts.

. . .

No, no, _no! _Not like that! Please, let it not end that way! _Never_. Tears poured down her face as she gasped for breath, trying to regain her control. She tried to clear the horrific vision from her mind's eye. She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself, tried to reach the plane of tranquility she found in meditation, but she was still too disturbed by the vision. Too disturbed by the scene that her own imagination had created. She knew he was jealous. She knew he could be violent. But could it ever escalate to that point? She shuddered to think it. No, no, _no._

She took refuge in ritual. She lit some incense, and made herself a soothing cup of tea. She knelt in front of the little altar and prayed for Buddha to send her peace, to restore reason, to restore serenity.

Mal was possessive, yes. Passionate, yes. But he was also gentle and kind. Gallant and noble-hearted. Loyal. A considerate lover. A romantic at heart. He had spoken and acted against those who would do violence to women. He was the defender of the unfortunate, protector of the weak. A champion of lost causes.

_Oh, Mal! Mal, my love_, she thought. _May we never come to this. Never_.

She began the meditation exercises that she had been taught at the Academy, to calm the mind and soothe the body and heal the soul. The exercises were designed to be used in case of a traumatic experience with a client, but Inara had found they helped when she had a traumatic experience in her own head, as well. She had had more than one occasion to use them.

Some time later, feeling somewhat restored, Inara sat up and straightened her dress. She _still_ needed to talk to Mal.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

尘球 Chén Qiú [name of a world]

泥球 Ní Qiú [name of a world]

阿曼妮 Āmànnī [Armani (syllabic translation)]

绝对的天才 juéduì de tīancái [an absolute genius]

宝贝 bǎobèi [sweetheart]

废话 fèihuà [nonsense]

混蛋 húndàn [asshole]

他妈的 操的 混帐 tāmādē cào de hún zhàng [motherf-ing bastards]

懂吗 Dǒng ma [You understand]

他妈的 tāmādē [f-ing]

该死 Gāisǐ [Goddammit]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

操 cào [f-]

* * *

_A/N: Much as I don't like to break this section in half, the full sequence of scenes was too long for a fanfiction dot net chapter, so I'll just say 'to be continued' and post the next part soon. I want to know when you began to catch on that it was all in her head…_


	6. Chapter 6

Two by Two by Two, Part 3b

_Inara needs to work, continued._

Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1.

This section rated T.

(Continues the sequence of scenes from Part 3a.)

_A/N: I want to thank those of you who have written reviews. Most of you have already received a personal response. To ermintrude421, since I can't respond by PM: thanks for your many reviews. The stabbing in the previous chapter is symbolic, of course. You'll see the theme of heart wounds developed. To Rachel: Thank you likewise for your reviews. P O'B and DG are two of my favorites, as well. _

* * *

"Mal, where are we bound?"

"We're headed for Beaumonde, Inara. Should get there about ten days' time." He turned toward her with a quizzical half-smile, not asking the question that was clearly at the tip of his tongue.

So she answered the question he did not ask. "I need to work, Mal."

He immediately turned away with a scowl, reining in the burst of bad temper that clearly threatened to spill over his lips. He took a deep breath, and at last he said without turning back, "I don't like it."

"Mal, I have to work. I can't sit around being ornamental. I have to earn my keep."

"Do you have to earn it _that _way?" he asked, his voice an angry whine.

"Mal, I trained for this job for years. I'm skilled at it. I'm very good at it, in fact. This is what I know how to do."

"You could change what you do," he said, clearly expending some effort to keep his voice reasonable.

"So could you," she returned. They were at it again. Neither of them had said the words, but the old volley of "whore" and "thief" was up and running.

He exhaled. "I already have, Inara," he said, with a tightness in his voice. "Or ain't you noticed? How many robberies you seen me pull lately? How much thieving? I'm trying, Inara. I know a lot of what I do to make a living is illegal. Don't mean it's all wrong."

She had to give him some credit. He _had _given up violent crime. He'd carried a number of perfectly legal loads of cargo since Miranda—engine parts, terraforming gear, Ip Neumann's scientific experiments, recycled machine parts. And he added a little black market dealing, illegal landfall, smuggling, and corporate espionage to make ends meet. He had a ship to keep in the sky and a crew to feed. She could hardly blame him.

"What I do isn't _wrong_, either, Mal," she answered. "To be fair, I know you _are _trying. I'm willing to try too." She paused, thinking of how to phrase what she had to say next. "I know you find some of what my job entails distasteful—"

"_Distasteful?_" he exclaimed, clearly astonished at her delicate choice of words.

She rode over his interruption. "But not all of it. Maybe you're not aware of how much of my job is to be a social facilitator, a companion in the ordinary meaning of the word—someone to talk to, to unburden one's self to, someone to counsel. Do you really object to my seeing clients in that capacity?"

"In that capacity," he admitted, grudgingly. "But don't it regularly run over into the other capacity? What's to stop a friendly comforting talk from spilling over into other kinds of comfort? What am I supposed to think when you—"

She cut him off before he could accelerate over the edge. "Control is the first lesson of a Companion's training. If I contract with a client for talk, that is what he or she gets—_talk._ It won't go any farther than I wish for it to go."

"I still don't like it, Inara," he said. He huffed out his breath for a while, fiddled with the console and flicked the three test switches, then turned to her again. "We'll be on Beaumonde for three days," he said at last.

She knew it was as close to grudging acceptance as she could get from him at this stage.

. . .

And that seemed to her the most likely outcome. He wouldn't be delighted, but neither would he try to kill her. He would grumble, he would make it difficult, he would probably cuss—but he would do it. And he wouldn't be happy about it at all.

She opened the shuttle door, and went to talk to Mal on the bridge.

. . .

Mal laid in the coordinates for the trip to Beaumonde and Holden Brothers headquarters. He wasn't sure if Buck Holden would be willing to deal with him regarding the timonium crystals, but it was worth a try. There was a strong possibility that Holden Brothers wouldn't touch it. Buck Holden set great store in his reputation for honesty—didn't want the taint of illegality or even dubious dealings touching his shop. Hell, he'd even made quite the show of throwing Mal out in the dust last time—same time he hired him to transport secret information on Blue Sun under a cover cargo of terraforming gear.

Mal re-played the record of the wave that River had made. Holden was excited, nervous, and genial, all at the same time. "I'm going to have to keep you waiting again, Zoe, so bring reading material," Holden-in-the-vid told him. "Might even have to throw you out on your ear again. Well, don't think I could throw you out, in your current condition—" (Zoe had mentioned about the baby) "—but tell Mal, so he expects it." All a show, to throw Holden's enemies off the scent, and protect the Firefly's crew from the agents who seemed to be only one step behind. Mal was willing to play the game. But this time, he was taking no chances about a dockyard saboteur. He would choose Serenity's parking space at Pedro Docks with care, and set a twenty-four hour watch on the ship. "Now why is it that son-of-a-gun can't come speak with me himself?" Holden inquired. "Has he really got something that important to do right now?"

"I can only guess what you're talking about," Holden responded, when Zoe hinted at their valuable cargo, and Mal knew that Buck had more or less got it all figured out. He was a sharp one, and he knew better than to ask for details over a wave. "But I'm familiar with the aphorism—'One man's trash is another man's treasure.' I'm sure there's a terrific story there, but I'll have to wait for you to tell it in person."

Mal had transported many a cargo that was less than legal—smuggled goods, black market goods, illegal goods, stolen goods, but the timonium crystals were without a doubt the most valuable illegal cargo he had ever carried. And the amount they had was significant. Although they'd done a brisk trade in fruits and vegetables, and had traded for local crafts like basketry, musical instruments, and fabric, timonium had become the currency of choice. The Bandiagarans had cleaned Serenity out of everything tradable she carried—all the machines and machine parts, all the medicines until Simon stopped the process, insisting that they retain a small stock in case they had a medical emergency themselves before they could re-supply on Beaumonde. They sold the veterinary medicines that were left over from the cattle job to Beylix. They sold the nets that had secured the cargo of junkyard parts, to some folk who wanted to rig it as shade netting to protect their vegetable gardens from the harsh Bandiagaran sun. Spare hoses from the engine room had been sold, to become a drip irrigation system for some lucky farmer's dry-land plot. Hell, they'd even sold the contents of the septic vac—and been paid good money for it, too. All that well-digested cattle manure was worth its weight in platinum—or timonium, rather—in a land where fertile soil was a precious commodity. And all of this had happened under the unsuspecting nose of Blue Sun.

Blue Sun had an exclusive contract with the Bandiagara World Counsel for mineral rights and all import and export. The mere fact of the Firefly having landed on Bandiagara without having been hired by Blue Sun to carry an approved cargo was already all manner of illegal. If anyone found out he was carrying timonium crystals from Bandiagara—if Blue Sun knew that _anyone _was carrying timonium crystals—. Mal smiled to himself. Blue Sun had found rich sources of timonium ore, pressured and corrupted the local government into compliance with their wishes, and screwed over the common people. The corporation then carried on with raping the planet of its resources, enriching itself, keeping the government officials as lap dogs, and keeping the rest of the population in a state of subjection. By ignoring the true needs of the Bandiagaran people, Blue Sun had missed out on the mother lode. The bag of crystals hidden in Mal's bunk was worth as much as ten Blue Sun transports fully loaded with partially refined ore—enough to buy Serenity many times over. Alls he needed was a proper dealer. And he suspected that Buck Holden had the proper motivation to want to put one past Blue Sun. If he couldn't manage the valuable crystals himself, he'd know who could. Mal smiled again—a genuine smile. Weren't often things went his way.

And speakin' of good things comin' his way—Mal became aware that Inara was hovering just outside the door to the bridge. "That you, darlin'?" His voice carried a clear invitation, and Inara stepped closer.

"Mal? I—" Inara began.

Mal turned in his chair, giving her a bright smile. He reached out his arms, and Inara didn't need her Guild training to understand his body language. And, oh, yes, she wanted him to sweep her into his lap, and dot her face with sweet kisses, and—stop. _Control is the first lesson_, she told herself. She'd come here with a purpose. It was important for both of them that she carry it through.

"Mal, please—I mean for this to be a business-like request—I—yes, _afterwards—_Mal. Behave yourself!"

He stopped short. There was something very serious in Inara's eyes, so he paid close attention.

"Mal, I have secret business on Beaumonde. I need to go there."

He blinked. Yes, he recognized those words. She was quoting the discussion they'd had those many weeks ago, when he'd claimed that what bothered him about her keeping secrets was that she had tried to play him, to manipulate him into compliance with her agenda. He'd implied that if she told him straightforwardly that she had secret business, he wouldn't object. He blinked again and tried to swallow the stupid, jealous words that were rising in his throat. Inara, looking into his face, clearly saw his turmoil, for she spoke again. "If Beaumonde is not convenient, I can arrange to do my secret business on Boros or Persephone." She waited again, watching him closely.

_一__起__深呼吸__Yī __qǐ__shēn hūxī,_ Mal thought, closing his eyes and waiting for the wave of irrational anger to ebb away. With an effort of will, he re-engaged the rational part of his brain. When he spoke, his voice was only a little bit tight. "When do you need to get there?"

"Next week at the latest. Is that possible?"

Mal checked the console, running course calculations, fuel load, and other factors through his mind and through the flight software. "Should be able to get there Tuesday. That soon enough?"

She nodded. He added, "I can push it a bit, get us there Monday p.m., if you need."

"Tuesday will be fine." She looked at him. "Thank you, Mal."

She leaned towards him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He responded by sweeping her onto his lap and pressing his lips to hers. They kissed until they needed to come up for air, then kissed again. Inara pulled back a moment. "Aren't you going to ask what my secret business is?" she gasped out, as Mal dotted feathery kisses along the edge of her jaw and across her neck.

Mal interrupted the line of kisses he was dotting on her collar bone just long enough to say, "Nope. Don't think I will," and he darted his lips back to her skin with a whispery touch that had her shuddering.

. . .

"Yep. That went well." Mal lay back in his bunk, hands clasped behind his head, and recollected the sequence of events on the bridge with great satisfaction. He was glad he was alone, because he was sure the self-satisfied smirk on his face was obnoxious in the extreme. But 哎呀 āiyā if he could help it. Now if that weren't an object lesson for rising above jealousy and taking the high road, he didn't know what was. Let's see, which way worked out better? Plan A, challenge Inara's secrets, call her names, get slapped in the face and spend four weeks alone in his bunk with his nightmares for company—oh yeah, and six days in jail, too. Or Plan B, let Inara keep her secrets—for now, anyways—get kissed, get laid, get pleasured beyond all rational thought—beyond irrational thought, too, for that matter—and wind up completely sated, with parts of his body sore he didn't even know he had. _You'd be an idiot, Reynolds, not to go for Plan B_, he thought, and the smirk stretched even wider.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

_一 起 深呼吸 __Yī qǐ shēn hūxī [Take a deep breath]_

哎呀 āiyā [damn]

* * *

_A/N: Whaddaya think? Did it go better than her nightmare scenario? Worse than her fantasy scenario? She didn't exactly ask the same question, did she?_


	7. Chapter 7

Two by Two by Two, Part 4a

_Motherhood, fatherhood, marriage, infidelity, and jealousy—we've got the makings of a good opera here._

Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1.

This section rated T.

* * *

Zoe reclined on the sofa in the common area of Serenity, off the dining room. Pregnancy made her tired. She was not used to tired. She was used to being alert, at attention and ready to back the Captain's move. Who'd have thought that growing a baby was such hard work? So, more often than she'd care to admit, she felt an overwhelming need to sit down—and more than that, to put her feet up, recline, and close her eyes.

Strange to think, although she felt so tired, she also felt stronger than she ever had in her life. The baby growing inside her was a presence. She didn't feel it on a conscious level so much as she knew and felt that the baby was _there_. Not just 'it', but _some one_, was inside her belly, Someone who was making his or her presence known in ways that were subtle, but undeniable. To a person who didn't know her, her belly looked just a little fat, but Zoe knew the bulging curve was just another one of the ways that Little Someone signaled his or her presence to mama. _Huh. That was something. Mama_. She was someone's mama. Mama to somebody yet unborn, but mama just the same. _Ooh!_ Seemed that Little Someone was not so subtle after all. She flipped her eyes open and looked at her belly. Someone _not Zoe _was moving her belly around. 喂 Wèi! there it was again. And this time she saw it. A little bubble that felt like belly gas, but not originating from within her own body—a bubble made by Someone else. She watched the little bump wiggle up and down. Someone was inside her. Bubble, bubble. Little Someone was kicking.

_Baby was kicking._

Strongest she'd felt since Wash died, she thought, lying flaccidly on the sofa. Wash would never see his child, but his baby gave her strength—and thus Wash gave her strength, the strength to go on, to continue, to struggle, to live—and to love. A tender smile spread across Zoe's face as she listened to her body and felt in concert with the little one wiggling inside her. It was an unusual look for Zoe, whose friends mostly saw her face of stoic calm, and whose enemies saw a face of lethal intensity. Few people besides Wash were even acquainted with Zoe's tender face. Tenderness was not weakness. Not in any mother. And especially not in Zoe. Tenderness was strength.

As Mal passed through Serenity's dining room, he glanced over to see Zoe stretched out on the sofa in the common area. That in and of itself was an unusual sight, as Zoe weren't one to be lounging around in the broad daylight—well, okay, 's always dark in space, but it was mid-afternoon ship's time. What stopped him in his tracks was the look on Zoe's face. It was dreamy and focused at the same time, tender and loving and strong. Blissful beyond imagination. He'd not seen Zoe look that way in all the days he'd known her, not even that time some years back that he'd stumbled onto the bridge inopportunely, to find Zoe and Wash—best not go there. Anyways, what was goin' on here was clearly something different, so he walked a bit closer, giving notice he was there and letting Zoe make the call as to whether or not his presence was welcome.

She looked over and beckoned Mal to approach. "Captain. Mal."

She almost never used his name, and he looked at her with some surprise as she took his hand and placed it on her belly. He knelt down by the side of the sofa, with Zoe holding his hand on her belly, held his breath, and waited. With a jolt of surprise he felt it. _What the good gorram was that?_

"Mal, you feel it?" Zoe asked.

He surely did. The baby. _Zoe's baby._ He closed his eyes, held his breath, and waited—longer this time. A little bubble of movement. He lowered his head to Zoe's belly, placing his ear and cheek right against her skin and looking up into Zoe's face. Felt like little burbles. Quiet-like for a spell. Then another little twitchy. Didn't know what his face was expressing toward Zoe, but what he felt was a fascinated wonderment, almost holy in its intensity. Zoe…life. Zoe creating life. Zoe. Life. He felt a little jab at his cheekbone. Kid had just kicked him in the jaw, most like. He gave a little laugh, reached up, and cradled Zoe's face in his hands. He bent over and kissed her. "You done good, Zoe," he said softly. "Got yourself a little fighter in there."

. . .

Inara glided softly into the dining room, seeking a soothing cup of her favorite tea. Someone was in the common area, and she glanced over. What she saw stunned her, and only her Companion training saved her from betraying her shock. Mal was kneeling next to Zoe, with his face pressed into her bare belly. What was going on? The two of them were so wrapped up in each other that they were completely oblivious to her. She couldn't quite read the expression on his face as he gazed up Zoe's shapely body into her face, but love was undoubtedly a large component of his look. As she stood transfixed, he laughed softly, tenderly placed his hands on Zoe's face, and kissed her. _Kissed her! _He murmured sweet nothings. Inara could bear it no more. Turning, she quietly fled to the shelter of her shuttle.

Mal and Zoe! Zoe and Mal! How had she never seen it? All that not-touching they did in public. Zoe calling him 'sir' like she didn't even know his first name. Those intense dialogs they had with just their eyes. Everyone knew Zoe and Mal were close, but she'd always bought the line they fed the others that they were not a couple, never were a couple. Just war buddies. And she'd felt sorry for Mal—_sorry_ for him!—that he'd spent so many years alone, deprived of feminine caresses, feeling no womanly touch. _Arrgh! _She could just scream. How had Wash put up with this 狗屎 gǒushǐ?

Wash. Oh, poor Wash. She knew he'd felt jealous of Mal and Zoe's closeness. They went off together on jobs, and returned with the stories. The stories of thrilling heroics, adventure and bonding. It was always a "job" that took them off by themselves, and no one else really knew what they did when they were alone together. Of course they'd been discreet aboard the ship. It was a very small community. But both of them had phenomenal powers of restraint—amounting to repression in Mal's case. She'd seen through Mal's attempts at obfuscation and re-direction in other matters, but she had to admit he'd thrown her off the scent in this case, with all his nattering complaints about shipboard relationships. Wash had thought those complaints were directed at _him_. Oh, poor Wash! Was Zoe's baby even Wash's? Or was it Mal's? _"I'm going to be a father for sure."_ Of course. She felt anger at their betrayal. On Wash's behalf, of course.

Or mostly on Wash's behalf. But some on her own behalf. A lot on her own behalf. Much as she hated to admit it, she felt tremendous anger at Mal for betraying _her_. _Control is the first lesson, and the last._ Mal and Zoe! And all this time he'd made such a show of mooning after her! Her, a bona fide Companion! _Control is the first lesson. _He'd convinced her that he loved her, worked his way into her bed, into her heart. _The first. _He'd seemed so joyful, so grateful, that she'd allowed him to lie with her. _Control is first. _So sorrowful, when she shut him out. Oh, the hurt in his eyes when she spoke harshly to him. _Control. _The jealousy he expressed when she went off to do her business. Jealousy! Zoe and Mal. _Traitor!_

. . .

Mal was still in a state of complete awe when he went to the bridge to take his watch.

Zoe's baby was real. Kid had just kicked him. There was gonna be a baby on this boat, in just four months' time. Better get used to the feeling.

He knew that, with Wash dead, Zoe was counting on him to stand-in as the child's father. _我的天啊__Wǒ de tiān ā__._ It finally hit him. He was going to be a _father_. Not biologically, perhaps. A stand-in father. But it was real enough.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Wash said.

"Yeah," Mal responded with overflowing eloquence. He was unable to think of a single thing to say that properly expressed his feelings on the occasion.

"You look like you're in shock. You should sit down."

"I am sitting down," Mal replied.

"Sit down, put your head between your knees…and kiss your freedom from responsibility goodbye."

Mal's face twitched in a half smile. "I already done that, Wash. Long ago. But I ain't the child's father, Wash. You are."

"Of course I am," Wash answered. "But, you know, being dead and all, it'll be hard for me to be much of a 'hands on' kind of father. Funny, my old man was 'hands on' but it was only when he was trying to catch me and my brothers to punish us for 撒赖 sālài."

"What, you? Cause trouble?" Mal responded with a shake of his head. "Can't imagine it."

Wash merely smirked.

"Didn't have nothin' to do with your smart mouth, did it?"

"Well, luckily, you'll make a good stand-in," Wash grinned. "You're almost as much of a smart-mouth as I was, so the kid'll have a good example."

"You're expecting me to stand-in?"

"I'm counting on it. So is Zoe. She can't raise this kid on her own."

"She ain't on her own. Everybody here on this boat is family."

"Yeah, but Jayne?" Wash looked toward the ceiling and shook his head. "I can't have Jayne being the father figure for my child. It's you, Mal."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

喂 Wèi [Hello!]

狗屎 gǒushǐ [crap]

_我的天啊 __Wǒ de tiān ā [Dear god in heaven] (literally means "Oh my sky"—I particularly like this phrase for Mal)_

撒赖 sālài [raising hell]

_A/N: To Inara: Pot, meet kettle. Kettle, meet pot. The baby-is-kicking scene created quite a stir at the other site I post at, and I'd like to know what you thought of it._


	8. Chapter 8

Two by Two by Two, Part 4b

_Zoe's thoughts on love and loss. Simon has some news for Mal._

Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1.

This section rated T.

_A/N: Many of you commented on Inara's reaction to seeing Mal and Zoe during that iconic Baby-is-kicking moment in the last chapter. Yes, her reaction was a bit…shall we say "extreme"? Trust me, there is a reason for it. More than one. It's complicated, as Inara herself might say. Meanwhile, please don't get too frustrated with Inara's blindness and obtuseness on this particular subject. It's a difficult time for her, but as we know, stresses can lead to character growth. I hope you'll stick with the story and see where it leads._

_A/N 2: Also, I'd particularly like to thank Bytemite for beta-reading portions of this chapter._

* * *

Zoe had truly never seen such a look on Mal's face before. A wondering amazement. Joy. She hadn't seen Mal with such a look of pure joy on his face in…she couldn't actually recollect. It had been too long. Been long enough since she felt much joy herself.

But thoughts of the coming child brought her, if not joy, at least contentment. She only wished….Tears came to her eyes, and she blinked them back and bottled them up before they could spill over. Wash would never put his hand or his cheek on her belly and feel the baby kicking. Wash would never see the baby's face, look in its eyes, never hold their newborn child in his arms. Their child, who would never know its father.

Except…

Mal had her back. He always had her back; she knew that. Mal couldn't fill Wash's place, and he wasn't trying to do so. But she knew, without so much as a word being spoken, that he would try his damnedest to help her raise her child. Wash would have taken to fatherhood easily and with great good humor, despite his misgivings about starting a family in the first place. Mal didn't know a gorram thing about fatherhood, but he would give it his best effort. And as Zoe already knew, Mal's best effort was nothing short of heroic.

Mal would be protective. Incredibly protective. In fact, she could easily foresee that the trouble would be to keep him from being over-protective and interfering. Looking long into the future, she could see that, particularly if she had a daughter, Mal would be ready to scare off any potential suitors for good. No boy would be bold enough to pass the double gauntlet of her scrutiny and Mal's guardianship. If Mal and Inara ever had a child themselves, Mal was gonna be so over-protective, Inara was gonna have a helluva time…

Back on Bandiagara, she'd seen how he'd just basked in joy every time the folks there called him _Jëkkëre Inara_, like he couldn't get enough of being called Inara's husband. It hadn't surprised her a bit when he confessed to her that he'd asked Inara to marry him.

Well, it hadn't surprised her a bit from that perspective. What _did _surprise her was that he'd recovered enough feeling of self-worth to believe he was marriageable material, that he was anything other than damaged goods. He'd lost everything at Serenity Valley.

Now, Zoe understood loss. She'd lost a battle, and lost a war. Her spaceship home, and what was left of her family—also casualties of war. And she sure as hell understood losing her love…._哦__天啊__Ò__ tiān ā_, she thought, as the notion struck her. Mal understood what she was going through as a widow _because he'd already lost everything._ Zoe hadn't lost nearly so much at Serenity Valley. Mal had lost the battle, the war, his platoon, his home and family, his love, his trust in people, and his faith, all at once. Six months after Serenity Valley, he emerged from that Alliance internment camp a shattered man. It was testimony to his strength of character that he survived as anything better than a wreck. She'd seen him crawl into a black hole, and it had taken him the best part of a decade to emerge partially from it. And she had to give Inara credit. Because Inara had done more than anyone else to bring him out of the dark place.

What Inara had done to pull Mal out of that black hole was truly amazing, and Zoe respected her for it. Zoe herself had not succeeded in doing so in all the years since the war. 天啊 Tiān ā, she had tried. She remembered those times living in the slums of Hera, sometimes in a shelter, but mostly on the street. Hell, they didn't care; hadn't lived in anything resembling a house for much of the latter part of the war, and this wasn't any worse, physically speaking. Better than: no one was shooting at 'em, at least most of the time. But 哎呀 āiyā if that helped. They were both a sorry sight in those days—twitchy as rabbits, ready to startle for a nothing. A sound, a sight, a smell—something would set them off, send them diving for cover, trigger those flight or fight reactions. They'd re-live some of the worst parts of the war, one or the other or sometimes both of them at the same time. It was scary when Mal had a flashback and she had to watch, and talk him down—sometimes take him down—but she never flinched from doing it.

Zoe's PTSD had never been as severe as Mal's, and in Zoe's case the turning point came when she and Wash got together. Zoe's flashbacks came less frequently, and her nightmares were less disturbing. She liked to think that PTSD was no match for Wash's irrepressible good humor, and Wash's comforting touch kept nightmares at bay—or maybe just knowing he was there by her side helped her cope with it. Wash had reminded Zoe of what it was to laugh and love—and she had climbed out of the darkness of the valley, and begun to live again. Mal had stayed in the dark place.

Inara had helped Mal. Zoe hadn't been awakened by Mal's nightmares so often since he'd taken to sleeping with Inara—and it wasn't just that he spent some nights out of her earshot in Inara's shuttle rather than his bunk. He was sleeping more peacefully, Zoe could tell. He was smiling more, laughing more—not so much in front of the others, which was what had made the whistling incident all the more unusual—but Zoe had heard him and Inara laugh together, when they were sitting and talking, and thought they were alone. Reminded her of Mal in his younger days, early on in the war, when he could always be counted on for a joke or a funny story or seeing the humor in an otherwise grim situation. As the war went on, the humor got darker but the charm wasn't lost. It was only after Serenity Valley that he became grim, and only in the hellish aftermath of that battle that he stopped smiling and laughing with sincerity. Who had Wash reminded her of? Young Mal, her brother-in-arms, her brother.

Zoe had been aware that Mal was attracted to Inara…almost from the word go. But he was not the type of man who acted thoughtlessly on the force of physical attraction. She was a Companion, and despite all his protestations, Mal really was a man who was saving it for marriage—or for a serious relationship, anyway. Zoe had often teased him about his puritanical attitude. At first, Zoe didn't believe it would ever work, and she tried to get in their way. She could see that Mal was drawn to Inara—almost like a moth to the flame. She thought he would get burned. Inara was a Companion; Mal was a committed monogamist—two different worlds. But then she noticed that Inara couldn't leave, either. Mal (and Serenity) gave Inara access to intangibles she couldn't get anywhere else—freedom, including the freedom to be herself. Zoe got the idea that Serenity was the only place Inara had expressed her true feelings in years—probably since she first went to Companion Academy. Even if some of those true feelings were frustration towards a certain annoying transport captain. Inara provoked Mal, in the hope that he would drive her away, because she was afraid of her feelings for him. She loved him, and feared that loving him would spell death for her career. Mal needed Inara. And Inara needed Mal.

Zoe remembered talking to Wash about it. _"He's gonna drive her away."_

"_He won't. He loves her."_

"_He sure does. But he won't admit it. Not even to himself, half the time."_

"_If I loved a woman—and I do, lamby-toes—there's not a power in the 'Verse would keep me from admitting it." Wash suited action to word, by giving Zoe a hair-curling kiss._

"_Mmm hmmm," Zoe hummed, in a satisfied way. "Hair-curling kisses—that tells it pretty plain."_

"_Not that you have need of any hair-curling, my __秋花 __qiū huā__," he said, running his hands through her curls. He'd always loved her curls. "I _love_ your hair. And where your hair connects to your head. And your face. Your eyes." He kissed her eyelids. "Your nose. And right below your nose. Your cheeks and…where your cheeks join your mouth." He kissed her on her lips. "Your _mouth_," he said with extra emphasis, and devoted some time to a deep exploration of that particular facial feature._

"_Your mouth," he gasped breathlessly, some time later._

"_Don't forget my mind," she added pointedly, "long as we're talkin' above-the-shoulders features."_

"_Shoulders…yeah," Wash gasped, his hands wandering, then corrected himself. "Mind. Right. You've got a beautiful mind. If not for the brilliance of your mind, I might be overwhelmed by the brilliance of your…" his eyes wandered, then snapped back up. "Eyes," he declaimed dramatically._

_She beamed him with a pillow._

"_Hey! That's me, praising your _mind_!" he protested. "You know, _opposite_ of caveman. I love your _mind,_ your intelligence, your…." He was struggling, and given the nature of what she was doing to him, she had to admit he was doing a remarkable job of keeping his remarks coherent. "…your voluptuous, luscious, sweaty, slippery, sexy—" he was losing it "—sexy, sexy, sexy _brain_!" he gasped._

. . .

Simon drew Mal into the infirmary and activated the privacy screens. He didn't know how to begin.

"Alright, Doc. What's up?" Mal asked, not wasting any time.

"Captain, I have reason to believe the injectable men's contraceptive I gave you is ineffective."

"'Ineffective'," Mal repeated. "And just what do you mean by that?"

"I mean," Simon replied, feeling like he was plunging over a cliff, "that it may not work properly."

"I gathered that, Simon," Mal said with annoyance. "I know what the word 'ineffective' means." He gave Simon a penetrating stare. "What I want is an explanation of why you think so."

Simon hedged. "The expiration date on that lot has passed."

"I thought you told me the expiration date didn't make no special difference, that the stuff didn't suddenly go bad."

"It doesn't suddenly go bad. It gradually loses efficacy. And in this case, it's so far past the expiration date that I doubt it's even fifty percent efficacious. You should probably switch to the oral—"

"Why the hell didn't you replace it earlier?" Mal demanded.

"Because we were short of money," Simon stated pointedly, completely uncowed. "Serenity was out of funds, and I had only my own savings to spend on medical supplies." He noticed that Mal began to look disconcerted, flustered, guilty even. "I had to make choices."

"You shouldn'ta had to make those choices," Mal began.

"Yes, I should have," Simon asserted. "It's my job to make those choices. I'm a doctor. The choices I make in my profession can mean the difference between illness and health, life and death. It's a balancing act, and I'm trained to make those choices."

"Still," Mal interrupted, "if you'd had more money—"

"Captain, in an ideal world, Serenity would have unlimited access to every kind of medication and all the latest medical equipment. But I'm well aware that there's no ideal world. The budget is limited, and my job is to make best use of it. Don't fret," he said, as Mal opened his mouth in another attempt, Simon knew, to assume responsibility. "I ran into the same kind of budgetary limitations on Osiris—just on a different, massive scale. Believe me, managing the medical budget of Serenity is a piece of cake compared with the Surgical Department of Capital City Hospital. And there are far fewer committee meetings."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

_Jëkkëre [husband of (in Wolof)]_

_哦 天啊 __Ò tiān ā [god]_

天啊 Tiān ā [God]

哎呀 āiyā [damn]

* * *

_A/N: I hope you enjoyed the re-appearance of Wash in this chapter. I'd write him into every story if he hadn't been killed in the movie. So I do my best with flashbacks, memories, and dreams. Don't forget to leave me your comments and reviews. :-)_


	9. Chapter 9

Two by Two by Two, Part 4c

_Motherhood and marriage. River has a fever, and Simon and Mal continue their chat._

Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1.

This section rated T.

* * *

Huh. A baby. It wasn't the way she planned it, but honestly, it was wonderful news. Kaylee had always known she wanted babies, preferably lots of them, and more recently she'd come to the conclusion that she wanted lots of babies that looked just like Simon, and had his top-class brains, too. So this was a start, and on the right track.

She didn't reckon she'd be havin' a baby with Simon quite this way, though. Well, honestly, there'd been a time when she'd despaired of ever havin' babies with Simon. But that was before Miranda. Kaylee's feeling about babies was very similar to her attitude toward sex—part of the natural rhythm of human life. People were born, they grew up, they started sexin', and sooner or later babies was likely as not gonna be part of the picture. Anyone as didn't understand that was denying the forces of nature, and probably tryin' to hide something from themselves, too. So to find herself expecting a baby, when she'd been lovin' Simon the way she'd been doin', was just a natural thing to happen.

She was not in any way adverse to marriage. But that, too, she wanted to come natural—not be forced on someone unwillin' just because he'd started a baby. That's why she didn't want Simon tellin' the Cap'n. Cap'n was old-fashioned—had to do with his Shadow upbringing, she knew. Her mama had told her tales of a fella from Shadow she'd tried to date, long before she met Kaylee's daddy. "Those Shadow folk, they was just too prim and proper," Mama had told her. "It warn't that they spent too much time in church, it was just what that-there church of theirs told 'em about sin and all, that turned their minds a certain way." Her mama had sighed. "That Shadow boy was mighty fine-lookin', and kind, and polite. But it woulda taken me longer 'n a Harvest winter ta get him in the sack, and I weren't about to wait that long ta see if it was worth my while to get serious with him! Luckily, there were plenty a' boys on Harvest what understood the natural order of things, and by the time I met your daddy—and I knew he was _the one_ the moment I lay eyes on him—I clean forgot about that handsome boy from Shadow."

Kaylee knew that as soon as the Cap'n found out about the baby, he'd be tryin' to order Simon to marry her. Cap'n was like a big brother to her—and she loved him for it—but she didn't want no man marrying her because he feared retribution from her 哥哥 gēge if he didn't.

Kaylee knew that Simon's own upbringing was working against nature as well. Simon had been brought up all proper and high-class in the Core—not that she had anything against high-class or proper, but it meant that Simon had been trained for too long to do things what went against what his heart told him. He wouldn't cuss 'cause it wasn't proper, even when cussin' was highly appropriate to the situation. He wouldn't spontaneously hug a stranger 'cause it wasn't proper—no matter that sometimes folk just needed a hug. And he wouldn't make a girl pregnant and then be content to cohabit with her and just be a daddy, 'cause that wasn't proper, neither. He'd think he had ta marry her.

And she didn't want that. If Simon was gonna marry her, she wanted him to marry her because he loved her, because he wanted to live his life with her, wanted to share her joys and sorrows, wanted to raise a family and grow old together with her. She didn't want him marryin' her because of some confounded notion that it was the only proper thing to do, that it was his duty. She wanted him to marry her 'cause his heart told him so, and it felt like the natural thing to do. And if that weren't the reason for it, she reckoned she didn't want nothin' to do with marriage at all.

. . .

"So how'd you figure out this lot of contraceptive is no good?" Mal leaned against the side bed of the infirmary, arms folded. His tone was mild enough, but Simon knew he wouldn't be put off.

"I didn't say 'no good,' I said 'less efficacious'," Simon corrected, putting off the explanation. Mal stared at him until he relented. "It's the same lot of contraceptive Wash was using." It went against his professional code of conduct to break patient confidentiality, but Mal was his patient, too, and he had a right to know the answers to the questions he was asking. It was just that, in a community this small, there was no possibility of disguising the identity of anyone. He could say 'one of my patients' but that was just another way of naming names, and he didn't see the point in obfuscating.

"And Zoe's pregnant. I get it. But I don't see how that proves anything. Didn't you just tell Jayne not too long ago that there ain't no contraceptive that's one hundred percent effective? What makes you think that weren't just an accident?"

"Because…" Simon felt his face turning red, even as he told himself he had nothing to be ashamed of, "I've been using the same lot."

Simon watched as a stunning array of emotions flickered across Mal's face in rapid succession as he worked out the implications—_all_ the implications—of what Simon had just said.

. . .

Fever. Elevated temperature. Affects the brain. Alters the brain. Biological feedback loops, interconnected. Interact with all systems. A few degrees' temperature change and the organisms can't grow. Can't reproduce. Have babies. Body's defense mechanism. Fever affects the brain but the viruses die first. A few degrees temperature change. Killed all the life on Shadow.

Caught a bug. Inaccurate terminology. _Bug_: hemipterous insect. Did not catch a _bug._ Not family Hemiptera. Caught a member of family Culicidae, genus _Anopheles,_ species _gambiae._ Mosquito. Easy to catch. Move slowly when they're full. _Vector_: a quantity possessing both magnitude and direction, represented by an arrow. Or, the course followed by a spaceship. Or, an insect that transmits a pathogenic organism. Caught a vector. Vector for malaria. _Malaria. Mal_: bad, in the Latin. _Aria:_ air. Also, a song. _La, la, la._ Focus, River. River's brain is altered.

Malaria. Bad air. Incorrect supposition of causation. Caused by the parasite _Plasmodium._ On Bandiagara, it's _Plasmodium falciparum. _By means of the bite of_ Anopheles gambiae. _Only the imago can be a vector. _Imago:_ adult insect. Also, idealized concept of a loved one. _Pupa:_ juvenile insect. Also, girl. Doll. Puppet. Only the female bites. Needs blood to make eggs. Which came first, the mosquito or the egg? Males feed on nectar. Nectar of the gods. Only the female bites man. _Anthropophagous:_ eats man. Cannibal. Reaver. River. But _she_ doesn't eat _man_. Female imago feeds preferentially on females. Sweeter. Woman, swatting frantically: _I'm being eaten alive by clouds of insects!_ Man, bare-chested, untroubled: _What's the problem, darlin'? Nothin' but a few bitty bugs. _ Not_ bugs_. Culicidae. Vectors. Vector for malaria. A vector is an arrow. Time is like an arrow. Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana. Black flies…

…transmit onchocerciasis, a.k.a. river blindness. Say that three times fast. (Onchocerciasis onchocerciasis onchocerciasis.) Black fly (Simuliidae)—the vector—transmits _Onchocerca volvulus_. A nematode. _Nematode:_ round worm. Eye of newt, and toe of frog, wool of bat, and tongue of dog—. Spotted dog. Captain made a spotted dog. Steamed pudding. Steam. Heat. Fever—adder's fork, and roundworm's sting—. Worms don't sting. It's not the nematode that causes the disease, anyway. It's the endosymbiont that lives inside the roundworm, _Wolbachia pipientis._ Causes severe inflammatory response when the worm bursts open. _Inflammatory:_ incendiary. Provocative. Fiery. Fever. Fever, itching, and blindness. River blindness. Onchocerciasis. _River. Blindness._

Blind. Means _can't see._ Can't see, can't see. Can't look, can't look. Look and see are not the same.

_Do you all know what it is you're carrying? _Carrier. Transmitter of disease. Vector. Arrow. Dart. Cupid's darts.

Love is blind. Is it love? Or infatuation? Or do I just like him?

Love. Captain is in love. Never felt what the Captain felt. Ergo, River's not in love. But I like him. River is in like. Like kissing him. _Really_ like kissing him. Like kissing _him._ First with the kissing, then with the touching, then with the—pitter-patter of little hoofs—_hooves—_hoofs—voiced or de-voiced? Depends where you were raised—Core or Rim. When you hear hoofbeats, think zebras.

Zebras. Caught a zebra on Bandiagara. Just a little zebra. I am _always_ a zebra. Never been a horse.

Always was a zebra. Knew I was a zebra. Two years old, standing in the vestibule, playing with a doll, and thinking. _Doll:_ a small figure representing a baby or human figure, especially for use as a child's toy. Pupa. Girl. Doll. Puppet. Inanimate object. But she had a name: Patty. Trying to make Patty stand. Mother in the dining parlor, talking with the housekeeper. Making arrangements for dinner. Mother never _cooked_ dinner. Mother _arranged_ dinner. Stand up, Patty (doll, pupa). Thinking, now is _now._ But wait, it is already _then._ As soon as I think it, it is past. I think _now! _Too late. Already _then. _Patty has trouble standing up. Juvenile primary lateral sclerosis (zebra). Or maybe she just lost her balance (horse). Hard to stand without a vertebral column. Take me where I cannot stand. Try again. _Now._ Already _then. _Can stand in zero gravity without a vertebral column. Take me out into the Black. _Now! _Then. Time is an arrow. A vector. Mother sees two-year-old girl playing with a doll. Smiles. Cute. Doesn't know daughter has discovered directionality of time. If you've got the money, I've got the time. I get the time. I _get_ time. I _get _what time is. What time is it? _Now. Then._

Silly idea, that sneezing means _cold._ Sneezing never meant cold. Indicative of viral infection, mild case of rhinovirus. Reflexive tussis, rhinorrhea and pyrexia. (Cough, runny nose, and fever.) _Cold:_ outdated terminology from culture ignorant of the germ theory of disease. Now. Then. Vestigial. Vestigial mode of time measurement based on solar cycles. It's not applicable.

. . .

"So you got my mechanic pregnant?"

Simon huffed. Of course Mal would zero in on that aspect first.

"What are your intentions?"

And of course he would immediately assume the role of big brother and protector of Kaylee. "I intend to be a father to her child. As good a father as I can possibly be." Simon took a deep breath, and saw that Mal was not satisfied with his answer. The Captain drew breath, but Simon interrupted before he could speak. He was not done; he just needed space. "I intend to support Kaylee in parenting, and stay by her side."

"That ain't en—"

"I want to be with her always. I love her," Simon declared, daring the Captain to raise an objection. "I—"

"You ain't said you intend—" the Captain interrupted.

"I intend to marry her."

"Have you asked her?"

"No, I—"

"Why the hell not?"

"Captain, I only found out about this—child—very recently. I haven't digested this information myself, let alone had time to act on it. And I wanted to buy a ring."

Mal suddenly deflated before his eyes, and the flustered, guilty look settled on his face again. If the subject hadn't been so serious, Simon would have been tempted to laugh, the contrast between assertive, bullying Mal and flustered, guilty Mal was so striking. Mal knew Simon had no money. And he knew _why_ Simon had no money. He hadn't been able to pay his crew on Beylix, nor on Bandiagara, and Simon had spent his last coin on medical supplies for Serenity, supplies that should have been paid for from the ship's budget.

"I'll see you get money for a ring, soon as we hit dirt and get paid," Mal promised.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

哥哥 gēge [older brother]

* * *

_A/N: So, the third degree for Simon turns into a bit of the third degree for Mal. Just what is going on in River's fevered brain? And Kaylee illustrates how cultural differences can have consequences. A little anecdote: In both the World Wars, a number of hasty marriages occurred between American soldiers and British civilians. Some of them came about as a result of a curious set of cultural differences, different expectations. The American men were eager to go on a date with a British woman, and the end goal of getting a kiss was considered not bad for a first date. The British women, on the other hand, were not expecting kisses to come so quickly. Because once you started kissing, that led to all sorts of other things. Those American men were…fast. Meanwhile, the American men were astonished (and probably not too displeased) to discover that an innocent kiss seemed to lead, very quickly, to…other things. Those British women were…fast._

_A/N 2: To the reviewer who thought I was saying just above that Brits were fast: No, my friend. I'm saying that _both_ cultures thought the other one was fast._

_Don't forget to hit that review button! :-)_


	10. Chapter 10

Two by Two by Two, Part 5a

_Simon talks to River, and River messes with Simon. A horrible fight._

Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1.

This section rated T.

. . .

A/N: I want to thank my beta readers for going above and beyond the call of duty on this and the next three chapters, as I decided at the last minute to add two more scenes. Er…three, actually. Scenes that ballooned into more than 4000 extra words. So thanks to my sister, who has read all my Firefly stories again and again, all 200,000+ words, and never tires of offering commentary and discussing them with me; and special thanks to Bytemite, who helped me iron out the thorny issues in these chapters and offered many helpful suggestions.

* * *

Simon walked down to River's room, and it occurred to him that it had been a very long time since he had actually _talked_ to his sister. Sure, they saw each other every day, and they spoke to each other and sometimes hugged each other, and Simon interacted with her as a physician whenever he gave her medical treatments, but actually _talking?_ It had been a while.

River was in bed. She hadn't been feeling well, and though Simon's first thoughts had immediately leapt to zebras—Bandiagara was a world seemingly rich in rare diseases he had never before encountered except in textbooks—it turned out she did _not _have malaria, or river blindness, or sleeping sickness, or any one of those exotic diseases that he had treated on Bandiagara. Just a cold. Now, it was a particularly nasty, fever-inducing, nose-that-won't-stop-running, hacking-cough kind of cold, but still. Not a zebra. Just a plain old horse. He had given her an antipyretic, but other than that there was much to be said for the traditional advice of "get plenty of rest and drink plenty of fluids." The old remedy of chicken soup was also not a bad idea, although Simon's opinion was that Ip's miso soup tasted better than the chicken-style protein broth that Serenity stocked.

"How are you feeling, 妹妹 mèimei?" he asked.

"I feel like 狗屎 gǒushǐ," she answered.

_Language, River!_ he wanted to admonish, but he held his tongue.

"Well, I _do_," she replied, defensively. "Cephalgia, pyrexia, rhinorrhea, reflexive tussis, and malaise."

He rolled his eyes. "Why don't you just use plain language and tell me you have a headache, fever, runny nose, and a cough?"

She rolled _her_ eyes. "I _did_. Said I felt like 狗屎 gǒushǐ."

"Well, the medicine will help," he continued. "It's a fever-reducer."

"Antipyretic."

"The antipyretic," he agreed, opting not to protest. River just liked to use the more complicated word sometimes. He smoothed the strands of hair off her face, and smiled to think what a beautiful sister he had. And what a beautiful girlfriend he had, too. He was a lucky man. "River, how would you like to be an aunt?"

"Ants are social insects of the order Hymenoptera. Nonetheless, there is a certain resemblance to the lampyridae. Live together in a colony, have specialized jobs such as foraging, defense, reproduction. Only some of them can fly. Work together to form a superorganism, the whole being greater than the sum of the parts." She paused, considering the proposition carefully, and came to her conclusion. "If I were to choose among insects, I should like to be an ant." She smiled at Simon. "Or a firefly," she added.

He automatically started to correct her misinterpretation. "River—" he began, then stopped, unsure of himself. Should he take her words at face value? Was she speaking metaphorically? Was she in an incoherent state? She _was_ ill. He should cut her some slack. Or was she just messing with him? (She _was_ still River, after all, and she had always been a bit of a brat.) He decided to take another tack. "Would you like to have a sister?"

Simon's indirectness was maddening, she decided. "A bird of a feather is better than two beating around a bush," she remarked, enjoying his expression as he tried to puzzle out the mixed-up aphorism. If he couldn't just come out and say what he really meant, she wouldn't dignify it with an appropriate response.

It was the fever talking, he decided.

"Two little birdies, sitting in a tree," she chanted. Simon gave her a sharp look, but she veered off-course. "The animals came two by two. Noah's ark is a problem," she stated. "Vestigial record, accounting for mass extinctions. More than two million species of animal cannot fit on a single boat without invoking improbable fluctuations in space-time. A single ancestral pair does not allow for sufficient genetic diversity within a species. Inbreeding is a problem. Zoocentric. Focuses on animals to the exclusion of other life-forms, notably plants and microorganisms. Does not allow for ecological sustainability." She took a breath, and looked Simon in the eye. "Shepherd's bible is broken," she concluded. "Tried to fix it, but Shepherd said it would fix me. Broken. Two by two, by two," she hummed.

Now he _hoped_ it was the fever talking. "River—" he began, with some alarm.

"The animals, they came on, they came on by twosies, twosies," she sang. "Chickens, and ducks, and swans, and goosies-goosies…"

He relaxed.

"刻鵠類鶩 Kèhúlèiwù."

He smiled and patted her shoulder. River was just being River. "Get some rest, 妹妹 mèimei," he said kindly. "I'll save my news for later."

_It's not news to me_, she thought, watching his retreating back. _Not when you already told me. _He was a wonderful brother, and she loved him. But sometimes she couldn't resist messing with Simon. "_Simon and Kaylee, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," _she taunted, _sotto voce. "First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage." _She rather liked being a brat.

. . .

Inara didn't show at dinner, so after the table was cleared, Mal took the plate he had saved for her and went along to her shuttle to find out what was up. Mayhap she was sick. River seemed to have caught a cold, some sorta bug she picked up on Bandiagara, and Mal hoped Inara didn't have it too. He tapped on the shuttle door. "Inara?"

"Go away, Mal."

"May I come in?"

"No. Go away!"

He tried the door and found it locked. "Inara, what's wrong?"

"I said, go away! You 好色 山羊的 拙劣的 儿子 hàosè shānyáng de zhuōliè de érzi! You 产卵的 有毒 毒蛇 chǎnluǎn de yǒudú dúshé! Betraying son of a 青蛙的 乱伦 的 猴子 qīngwā de luànlún de hóuzi!"

Huh. If Inara was cussing in Chinese, something was really wrong. "Let me in, please," he insisted, raising his voice but careful to keep polite.

"The hell I will, Mal! 烂鱼臭 Làn yú chòu traitor! 闻屁 牲畜 操的 Wén pì shēngchù cào de treacherous 妓女的 儿子 jìnǚ de érzi!"

What the 地狱 dìyù was goin' on here? Inara using the W-word? Well, technically, the 妓女-word, he amended. She must have gone completely off her nut. Something was really wrong. Setting down the dinner plate, he stepped over to the starboard control panel and began tapping in the codes to override the door lock.

As the lock clicked and the door hissed open, Mal rapidly covered the distance and wedged his leg through the door. Inara was already trying to slam it shut again, but Mal powered his way in. He knew she was trained in martial arts, and the fact that she had lost the advantage of surprise was the only thing that saved his manliness from serious damage. He warded off Inara's furious kicks and blows, grateful that his own training in hand to hand combat allowed him to defend himself. All the while she kept up a stream of abuse, insults and profanity that would have made Jayne blush. At last Mal saw his opportunity and pulled Inara into an armlock. Here he had the advantage of strength, and he held her pinned until her thrashings subsided, and her cursing trailed off into gasping hiccoughs.

After a moment of relative quiet, Mal spoke, "Think you can talk without hitting me now?"

She was still furious, he could tell, but she was clearly regaining some of that famous Companion control of hers. He released his hold, and Inara scrambled out of reach, pulling herself up into a fully upright and composed posture. Her words were still less-than-controlled, and she practically spat them out.

"Alright, so you've proven you're stronger than I am. Are you happy now?"

"No. I ain't happy. What's got you so upset?"

"You should know!"

He paused for a thoughtful moment. _Should_ he know? _Alright, Reynolds_, he thought, _what kind of idiocy you been up to, to make this woman go crazy-time on you?_ He racked his brain. He'd said please and thank you. Hadn't called her whore for weeks. Hadn't called her liar, neither. Thought he'd passed the test with flyin' colors when she'd come up to the bridge and asked him to take her to Beaumonde for that gorram _secret business_ that he didn't want to know about. No doubt he'd bumbled somehow, somewhere, but he couldn't for the life of him figure what he'd done. The last few weeks they'd gotten along so smoothly. He felt he'd made progress toward that goal of winning her heart and hand. He didn't want to slide backwards and jeopardize their relationship, so instead of getting angry and defensive (which he woulda done just a few short weeks ago, sure enough) he said, "Sorry. I am drawin' a blank."

She snorted like a fire-breathing dragon and he nearly jumped to avoid the sparks. "How can you possibly _not _know why I'm 'upset'?"

天啊 Tiān ā, he musta done something monumentally stupid. Had he been drunk? Couldn't recall gettin' plastered. Had he forgotten her birthday? Nope, that was still coming. Forgotten their anniversary? He discarded that one—they weren't married; and furthermore it was _his_ idea to celebrate the anniversary of the day they met—and he wasn't like to forget how well-received that notion had been with her. He was runnin' out of ideas. Time just to eat humble pie. "I beg your pardon, Inara. I'm sorry for what I did. But I really got no idea what I done to make you angry."

"Don't you?" she hissed. "Why don't you go and ask your _mistress?"_

Weren't that what he just done? Although he never woulda called Inara "mistress." That was probably as bad as "whore"—maybe worse. What was Inara to him, anyways? "Girlfriend" just didn't seem strong enough. "Fiancée"? She'd made it clear that he couldn't yet make that claim. "Wife"—he wished. He'd asked, and she'd put him off, but with such a look in her eyes that—ulp, the look she was fixin' him with now was one he'd last seen in the eyes of one of the more deadly predators that stalked the mountains of Shadow. "Inara, I, uh—whaddya mean?" he finally blurted out.

"Get out! Get out, Malcolm Reynolds, you two-timing 妓女的儿子 jìnǚ de érzi! If you're too dim to figure it out, go ask _her!" _Hurled objects flew toward his head like targeted missiles. She launched herself toward him with enraged fists flying, and he decided that discretion was the better part of beating a retreat.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

妹妹 mèimei [younger sister]

狗屎 gǒushǐ [crap]

刻鵠類鶩 Kèhúlèiwù [Aim to carve a swan and get a semblance of a duck (idiomatic expression for "get a reasonably good, but imperfect, result"; also "to fail utterly in trying to copy something")]

妹妹 mèimei [younger sister]

好色山羊的 拙劣的儿子 hàosè shānyáng de zhuōliè de érzi [misbegotten son of a lecherous goat]

产卵的有毒毒蛇 chǎnluǎn de yǒudú dúshé [spawn of a venomous viper]

青蛙的 乱伦 的 猴子 qīngwā de luànlún de hóuzi [frog-humping monkey]

烂鱼臭 Làn yú chòu [Rotten fish-stinking]

闻屁 牲畜操的 Wén pì shēngchù cào de [Fart-smelling livestock-humping]

妓女的儿子 jìnǚ de érzi [son of a whore]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

天啊 Tiān ā [God]

妓女的儿子 jìnǚ de érzi [son of a whore]

* * *

_A/N: Ouch. Things are starting to go wrong, aren't they? See the shiny review button (hint)._


	11. Chapter 11

Two by Two by Two, Part 5b

_A horrible fight, and its aftermath._

Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1.

This section rated T.

* * *

He wanted to get to the bridge, where he could stare into the Black and think on this strange situation without interruption. He was utterly perplexed, but as he walked down the passage, a couple of LED's lit up dimly in his brain. What did Inara mean, go ask _her? _As if there could be any other _her _for him, 'sides Inara herownself. Now if that weren't a perplexion of pronouns, he didn't know what was. And what was that she called him? 'A two-timing son of a—' _son of a bitch!_ Was that it? Was it possible that Inara thought he was carrying on with another woman? Could it be that Inara Serra, the great rise-above-all-pettiness Inara Serra, first-class Companion, was _jealous_ of his affections? _Inara Serra worried that Malcolm Reynolds wouldn't be true to her. _Huh. The irony of such an unlikely situation struck him like a hammer hits an anvil._ Inara fretting over _his_ fidelity._ _Nah,_ he thought, dismissing the notion. It was just too improbable. He was too confounded in his own head to sort it out. Needed an outside opinion. He'd have to ask Zoe about it later.

. . .

Most of the crew were in the dining area, stunned into silence by the incredible row coming from the open door of Inara's shuttle. They were used to fireworks. Captain and Inara's love affair, with its fits and starts, break-ups and reconciliations, was better entertainment than the finest theatre in the Core. Jayne had amassed a small fortune taking bets on when and how their next fight would come about, how long the Captain would be in the doghouse, whether the Captain or Inara would be the first to crack and make up. But this row beat all the others hands down. For one thing, it was _Inara _screeching like a fishwife, cussing like a soldier, and throwing things. Jayne even learned a few new cuss words. No one could make out the Captain's words because he didn't even hardly raise his voice.

Inara's voice reached a crescendo. "Get out! Get out, Malcolm Reynolds, you two-timing 妓女的儿子 jìnǚ de érzi!" they heard clear as a bell, if a bell could shriek, that is. A hail of objects landed on the gratings with metallic pings and clangs. The shuttle door hissed shut, and the Captain's heavy step was heard in the corridor. A few moments later, he entered the dining area, looking stunned. Everyone stared blatantly at him while pretending to be deeply engaged with the variety of essential busy-work projects that they'd found it necessary to do within earshot of the shuttle. It was telling that the Captain seemed too stunned even to notice the unwanted attention. He focused in on Zoe, locked eyes for a moment, and stumped off to the bridge.

River looked up from the dining table, where she sat cocooned in a blanket, a steaming bowl of miso soup before her. She held out her hand toward Jayne. "Pay up, big man."

. . .

As he worked out with his free weights in the cargo bay, Jayne felt the want of the Shepherd's presence again. In more 'n one way, actually. Missed him as his workout partner. Missed his cooking. Missed how he would have eased the upset on the boat.

Book was always good for spotting with the weights. Workout and a homily. Jayne knew well enough that it was the Shepherd's way of preachin' at him without preachin' at him, if ya could say such a thing. Book'd just drop in some good advice casually, slip in some morality without you hardly bein' aware you was bein' sermonized. Workin' out was good for a man, not just for the muscles, but also for the spirit. Jayne had always known that. Workin' out settled a man's spirit like nothin' else—except maybe gettin' some trim. But the Shepherd had added an extra measure to it. The workout, not the trim.

Jayne also missed the Shepherd's cooking. That fancy meal the Captain had made a while back just highlighted the problem. Sure, they ate packaged protein most of the time, but Shepherd with his herbs and whatnot always made it taste like good food. Jayne had asked him once, what his secret was, and Book had just smiled one of them Shepherd smiles of his, like he knew a secret he weren't ever gonna spill. But then he added, "All it takes is a little flour, a little oil, a little bit of spice—and a _lot_ of prayer." Jayne thought he shoulda asked the Shepherd what some of them food prayers were, 'cause right now they were limited to Jayne prayin' it weren't the Doc's cook day. Sure, he'd eat it, no matter what it was—Radiant Cobb hadn't brought up her son to turn up his nose at any food—but that didn't mean he didn't have no sense of taste.

As he pumped his muscles up and down with the free weights, Jayne's attention was caught by a commotion up above on the catwalk. It was Mal, tryin' to talk to Inara again, tryin' to kiss and make up. He heard the shuttle door slam and the Cap's heavy exhalation, then his step slumping away down the corridor. Shepherd woulda talked some sense into them two by now, Jayne thought, as he worked through his reps.

Jayne knew what Mal should oughtta do: take charge, tell that woman to shut the 地狱 dìyù up and listen to reason. Oughtta just grab her, drag her to bed and then 操逼 càobī themselves silly 'til they didn't have no fight left in 'em no more. Best course of action for everyone on the boat. Sure, watchin' the two of them bicker was good entertainment, but Jayne understood that if they broke up for real it would just make trouble for the entire crew. Would put Mal in a black funk, and instead of blowin' off his aggravations at a good whorehouse or takin' matters into his own hands like Jayne would, he'd take it out on the crew. Like as not he'd make a mistake on the job that would result in somebody gettin' stabbed or shot. Since Jayne was high on the list of folk what stood to get stabbed or shot on a job gone bad, he was eager for that _not_ to happen. Mal in a black mood weren't no fun to deal with nohow.

Jayne stood up and began a set of curls with the free weights. Man had got a lot easier to live with since he'd took to gettin' laid regular. Jayne remembered what it was like before Inara had turned up. Seemed like he'd been tellin' him that for years, but would Mal ever take his advice and come along to the cathouse with him? Nooooo. Was too far up on his high horse, disparaging Jayne's perfectly sensible attendance to his perfectly natural urges. If ever was a man needed to attend regularly to them natural urges to keep hisself from goin' plumb crazy, it was the Captain. Someone needed to impress upon Inara that the whole gorram crew depended on her to keep the Cap'n from turnin' into a right raving 神经病 shén jīng bìng.

Jayne woulda told her, but she wouldn't listen to him. Zoe wouldn't break ranks with Mal, Kaylee was too nice to confront Inara, Doc was too much of a wuss to confront her, Crazy was too crazy to do it, and Doc 'Noyman didn't have a clue. If anybody coulda told her, told her in a way that she'd listen and accept, it was Book. 哦 天啊 Ò tiān ā, he missed the Shepherd.

. . .

This time, he caught her by surprise. Her door was open, and he'd actually crossed the threshold before she was aware.

"Inara." His voice was pleading.

"Go away, Mal." It was the same answer she'd made every time. She wouldn't look at him. The 花心 huāxīn, 背信棄義的 bèixìnqìyìde…. If she looked into those eyes, she'd be lost again, lost like she was before. Lost in the woods and the deep blue…and she couldn't, now that the spell was broken and the fairy tale ended, and reality was descending with a thud of finality.

"Please, Inara—" He took a step forward.

"I said, go away!" _Can't look, can't look._

"Look at me," he implored. She wouldn't.

"Go away." He didn't.

"Can we at least talk about it?"

"_Go away,"_ she commanded, still refusing to look. Still he made no move.

"Inara—" he insisted.

Picking up the nearest object, she flung it at him. Companion education included archery, marksmanship, and a variety of field sports—skills that few people considered when they thought about Companion training. She actually had remarkably good aim, and the object struck his forehead.

"Ow. Inara—" He flung up his arms to protect his head.

"I. Said. Go. Away." She punctuated each word with another object, still not meeting his eyes. He retreated, as each object struck its target. "Go away!" She hit the button to shut the door, and not content with its unhurried rate of closure, she gave it a powerful assist. The finality of its clang gave her some satisfaction, as did the click when she engaged the lock.

Then she curled up on the edge of her bed and wept silently, her heart pulling painfully in her chest.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

妓女的儿子 jìnǚ de érzi [son of a whore]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

操逼 càobī [screw]

神经病 shén jīng bìng [lunatic, mental case]

哦 天啊 Ò tiān ā [God]

花心 huāxīn [unfaithful]

背信棄義的 bèixìnqìyìde [betraying]

* * *

_A/N: Oh Inara. Oh Mal. It's painful to watch, isn't it?_


	12. Chapter 12

Two by Two by Two, Part 5c

_A few days ago, things were going so well, but now…everything's going wrong._

Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1.

This section rated T.

* * *

Everything had gone so wrong, and it was hard to believe that a few short days ago, everything had been going so _right_. Mal had asked her to marry him—sincerely, seemingly without premeditation. Clearly without premeditation, she decided, for he obviously hadn't thought it through. She hadn't given a definite answer, but he'd acted as if she had. Acted as if it were a good answer. He'd overwhelmed her by remembering the anniversary of the day they met, and treating it as cause for celebration. And the sex…beautiful, amazing sex, better than any she'd experienced before, and she would have sworn he felt the same. When she'd gone to the bridge to inquire about their landfall, Mal had behaved well, cooperating in a way that surpassed her expectations.

She had been able to schedule her long-overdue appointments with a Guild-certified doctor. She still hadn't told Mal the real reason why she needed to visit "civilized" planets on a regular basis, and he was still in the dark as to the true nature of her "secret business." She'd felt mildly guilty about the concealment of her purpose. But her guilt was trivial compared with the enormity of Mal's deception. He had concealed his affair with Zoe. Now she had nothing to look forward to on Beaumonde except the appointments that always made her feel sick—painful therapy that left her drained. It was bad enough that it made her wonder if the treatment was worse than the disease. And she had nothing to look forward to in coming back to Serenity, either.

Her life stretched out in front of her like a bleak and empty field, with no high points and no features of interest in the foreseeable future. And immediately surrounding her, nothing but grey fog and dull grey mud. Ashes and dust, mud and clay. Just a few days ago, her worries had been so different. She closed her eyes on the flat grey landscape, and remembered. Those worries looked inviting now.

_Biting her lip, Inara concluded the arrangements on the cortex. Her appointments with a Guild-certified doctor were confirmed, and the Guild comptroller's office had pre-approved the charges for the expensive course of therapy. When she'd inquired about their landfall, so that she could schedule these appointments, Mal had been a darling, restraining himself from asking the questions that were clearly on his mind, if not on the tip of his tongue. She didn't want to have to answer them, particularly now, when things had been going so_ well_, as Kaylee would put it._ _He'd been in an extraordinarily good mood lately, and she didn't want to be the one to spoil it. But she knew that, sooner or later, she wouldn't have a choice._

"'_Nara?" Kaylee's voice was unsure at her shuttle door._

_She was_ not _in the mood to see anyone right now, but for Kaylee, she'd make an exception. And perhaps Kaylee's natural sunshine would improve her own outlook. "__请进__Qǐng jìn__,__妹妹__mèimei__."_

"'_Nara, I—oooh, what a pretty tea set!" Kaylee exclaimed. She bounced over to the little table to examine the Bandiagaran tea set that Mal had given her. "Didya get it at market day in Fajara?"_

_Not trusting herself to speak, Inara kept her face blandly pleasant, and nodded._

_Kaylee didn't notice her preoccupation. "Shiny!" she exclaimed, picking up the teapot. She looked over at Inara with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and that's when Inara finally noticed that Kaylee, too, seemed a little bit off from her usual sunshiny self._

"_What is it, __妹妹 __mèimei?" Inara asked._

"_Oh, Inara!" Kaylee exclaimed, her eyes going sorrowful. "Have ya ever thought about having children?"_

_It was not what Inara was expecting to hear. And it was _not _a question she wanted to answer. Fortunately, Kaylee paused only briefly before continuing, her enthusiasm waxing as she spoke. "You and the Captain would make such darling__可爱__kě'ài__ babies. They'd be so beautiful. And he'd be over the moon about it."_

_Inara had to bite her lip._

"_Don't want to talk about it, do ya?" Kaylee said, her eyes big and round and serious._

_Inara shook her head. She regretted it, but she and Kaylee had not been quite so close recently. It wasn't a conscious thing, but Inara recognized that as she spent more of her time with Mal, she spent less time with the others on Serenity. Kaylee, too, and Simon had been so wrapped up in each other and their work that they'd rarely been seen outside of mealtimes. Inara wondered briefly who had been paying attention to River. The answer came quickly: Mal. He paid attention to everyone on his crew, both as a matter of duty, because he was captain, and as a matter of choice, because (whether he would admit it or not) he cared for them all. And what about Zoe? Widowed and pregnant, she must need a shoulder to lean on now and then, despite her stoicism. Mal had been looking after Zoe. And clearly with some success: she'd heard the two of them laughing on the bridge the other day. Inara hadn't heard Zoe laugh since Wash died, so Mal was apparently doing something right. Inara had always felt a strong sympathy with Kaylee, and the younger woman had always gravitated to Inara for girl-talk. But she hadn't put as much effort into their friendship lately, and now she realized that the closeness of that connection had suffered. She wasn't sure if she could talk to Kaylee now with the openness they once had shared._

_Kaylee sighed. "Well, here I am, askin' you nosy questions, when really what I mean is, I need to talk about me." She paused and looked inward. She seemed to be trying to figure out how to say what she had come to say. But her next words took Inara completely off guard. "Inara, you ever thought about marryin' the Cap'n?"_

What? Where did _that_ come from?_ Knowing that Kaylee could not have known that Mal had, in fact, asked her to marry him on Bandiagara, Inara put on her act and rolled her eyes. "As if I would."_

"_You mean ya wouldn't?" Kaylee inquired seriously, with great interest. "Why not?"_

"_Kaylee," Inara began, then changed her mind about explaining her heart. "It's complicated." It was a cop-out, but she didn't feel like baring her soul at the moment._

"_He's __帅 __shuài, and he's a good man," Kaylee went on, relentlessly. "He's so in love with you, too. You can see it in his eyes."_

"_Did he send you here to plead his case?" Inara asked with feigned amusement._

_Kaylee stopped, like a balloon deflating. "Inara, all this babble…it's just…__对不起 __duìbuqǐ, I'm askin' you all this stuff, when really, what I mean is…"_

_Inara saw that Kaylee's lip was quivering. Her habit of empathy was engaged, and suddenly she was doing what she did best, comforting other people. "__妹妹 __Mèimei, what's wrong?" she asked softly, and the concern in her voice was genuine._

"_Inara, I'm pregnant." Kaylee looked uncertainly at her._

"_That's wonderful news," Inara responded. Kaylee's eyes were still bright with tears. "Unless…you don't want—"_

"_No, no, I_ do_ want….Inara, I'm—" Kaylee took a deep breath and blurted, "I'm so happy and it's wonderful and I'm so afraid Simon's gonna think he's gotta marry me just to be proper and maybe he don't really love me after all!" She burst into tears._

_Inara hugged Kaylee and patted her back, and soothed her, knowing that much of Kaylee's emotional volatility could be attributed to the surges of pregnancy hormones. She listened and consoled. Despite Kaylee's basic happiness at the thought of bearing Simon's child, she had a lot of fears and doubts and insecurities that clouded her natural sunshine. She worried that she was not smart enough, not educated enough, not classy enough, to hold the Core-bred surgeon's interest. That if he married her out of a sense of duty, he'd come to regret it. That she'd lose him._

_Inara did her best to reassure Kaylee and restore her spirits. Simon loved her. Simon was an intelligent man: surely he understood by now what a unique jewel Kaylee was. Simon didn't want to leave Serenity, he wanted to stay, he wanted to be with her. If he could choose any woman in the 'Verse, Inara asserted, he'd still choose Kaylee, and consider himself lucky to have her._

_As she soothed, dispensed wisdom, and comforted her friend, Inara found herself growing wistful and sad. Kaylee was now chirping cheerfully about babies, and the happiness they naturally engendered. Except for Inara, they didn't. In her mind's eye she saw a vision of herself and Mal, hovering worriedly over the cradle of their newborn child. A flicker of life struggling with illness…_

"…_shouldn'ta been so surprised, babies are part of the natural rhythm of human life, ain't they, Inara?" Kaylee was saying._

_Inara nodded absently. The vision burst, the cradle fell. It wasn't "natural" for_ her _now, was it? She'd been told she couldn't have children. Or shouldn't have children. Or wouldn't. She should check with a physician. She couldn't talk to Simon. Too close to home. And it wasn't his area of expertise. She'd consult Dr Schneider, the Guild-certified physician she was to see in a few days' time, the specialist in amelioration therapy and a notable authority on her condition._

"…_to live our lives together, share our joys and sorrows," Kaylee was saying, "grow old together, because that's the natural thing to do."_

Live together… sorrows…grow old…._ Inara shook herself. It_ wasn't _natural. It was the strangest thing that had ever happened to her. She had never, ever intended to fall in love with a poor, luckless, smuggling, scofflaw thief of a transport captain out on the Rim. She had never intended to compromise her career for any man—yet for this one, she didn't know what she might not do for his sake. Because she'd meant what she told him on Bandiagara: _"I love where you and I have been, with respect to each other—I'm delighted you asked—I'm not saying 'no'—It's the first sincere marriage proposal I've ever had."_ Some part of her wanted that fairy tale just as much as he did. The happy home, the family. The cottage garden that grows in one's heart, with daisies, red roses, jasmine, and rosemary; love-in-a-mist, heartsease, carnations, and baby's breath; bleeding hearts, yellow roses, nightshade, poppies, and iris; and love-lies-bleeding._

Inara sat up and wiped away the tears. Now, she had to face all her troubles alone.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

请进 Qǐng jìn [Come in]

妹妹 mèimei [younger sister]

可爱 kě'ài [adorable, cute]

帅 shuài [handsome, smart]

对不起 duìbuqǐ [I'm sorry]

妹妹 Mèimei [younger sister]

* * *

_A/N: What did you think about this look into Inara's head?_


	13. Chapter 13

Two by Two by Two, Part 5d

_Inara avoids comfort, and takes refuge in anger._

Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1.

This section rated T.

* * *

It had been two days since Inara's fight with the Captain, and she had been avoiding everyone else aboard Serenity, not just Mal. Kaylee tapped cautiously on Inara's shuttle door.

"Go away, Mal."

"'Nara, it's me," she called softly.

"Kaylee?" Inara's voice came through the door.

"We need ta talk."

"If you're coming to plead the Captain's case—" Inara began.

"It's not about him." _Yes, it is. About him and _you_. _Kaylee gathered her courage. Inara hadn't left the shuttle for a couple of days now, except for a few quick trips to the dining room to grab some protein bars and retrieve her tea. She'd timed them carefully for when nobody was about, and even though Kaylee had hustled in there to try to talk, Inara had managed to get away afore she could catch up to her. "It's about me," Kaylee claimed, and it was partially true. _You're my role model, Inara, when it comes to understanding men-folk. And when you're so off-kilter, it scares me some._ "And you." _It's definitely about you. You and the Captain. 'Cause when you two are at odds, it affects everyone on this boat._ It weren't just the fight. Everbody had heard the hollerin' and the sound of Inara throwin' things, and although at first everyone had rather enjoyed the fireworks, it weren't long before they realized this was more serious than the couple's usual spats. "Could use your counsel." _And you could use mine. Not that I'm any kind of qualified counselor, or nothin', but sometimes folk just need ta see things from another viewpoint. _Cap'n had gone by Inara's locked shuttle door repeatedly, Kaylee knew. She'd seen him apologizing, refuting, sweet-talking, even begging and pleading, in front of Inara's locked door. It weren't like Inara not even to listen. _Maybe I can help. And I gotta try at least. _"Will you let me in?"

There was some scuffling noise. The door opened.

"Missed you today, Inara."

Inara made no reply, but gave Kaylee a look, and led the way in. Kaylee noticed that Inara's eyes were red-rimmed behind her make-up, but her voice was perfectly composed. "Would you like a cup of tea?" she offered, courteously seating Kaylee on the sofa.

"No thanks, 姐姐 jiějie," Kaylee replied. 哦天啊 Ò tiān ā, this was awkward. Inara was politely offering tea, like a Companion, not a friend. Whatever it was that was goin' on between her and the Captain was straining their friendship, too. "Sit down. We need ta talk." She looked up anxiously at Inara, and something in the older woman seemed to change of a sudden, like flipping a switch.

"Oh! Of course, Kaylee." Inara sat down, and looked at Kaylee, all sympathy now. And that, more than anything, brought home to Kaylee just how…unnatural Inara was acting. Not like herself. The regular Inara didn't need to remind herself to be friends with her Serenity family. Didn't need to turn off the Companion charm and remember to be real. The regular Inara was honestly more at ease, not pretending to be at ease. Something was really wrong.

Kaylee sat there for moment thinking about the last time she and Inara had a private conversation. It was only a couple days ago—just after she found out she was pregnant, and just before Inara had that big blow-up with the Captain.

Running over their talk in her mind now, Kaylee was appalled at herself. She'd been chirping away happily about babies and marriage, so caught up in herself, that she hadn't really been paying attention to Inara's reactions. And now, as she played the scene back in her mind, she noticed that her friend had been unusually, uncharacteristically cool on the subject. Almost silent. Kaylee was upset with herself for not noticing. Clearly babies and marriage were sensitive subjects. Kaylee had stepped in it. She thought back further, to the conversation about kids they'd all had on the way to Beylix. Captain jumped right in and said he wanted a large family—four or five kids. And Inara had been silent then, too. Dang. She should have noticed. She should have noticed something was wrong. Captain wanted kids, and Inara didn't. Or wouldn't. Or couldn't. And she wasn't sayin'. And, Kaylee was guessing now, she hadn't told Cap'n either. Or she had, but she hadn't told him why. And that was why they were at odds, or at least part of the underlying reason. And now Kaylee had another realization. Marriage. Inara and the Cap'n were at odds over marriage. Kaylee guessed this one easily. Cap'n wanted to marry Inara. And Inara, for some reason or other, didn't want to marry the Cap'n. Shoot. And she had ta go open her big mouth, and talk marriage and babies with her best friend. She'd probably hit every raw nerve there was. No wonder the explosion, when it came, had been so tremendous.

She recollected the stunned feeling of every crew member as they listened to Inara accuse the Captain of being unfaithful to her. _"Betraying son of a __青蛙__的__乱伦__的__猴子__qīngwā__de luànlún__ de __hóuzi__…__烂鱼臭__Làn yú chòu_ _traitor….Get out, Malcolm Reynolds, you two-timing__妓女的儿子__jìnǚ de érzi__!"_ Inara seemed to think the Cap'n was havin' an affair with another woman. Now that was just plain crazy. There was, however, something she could do about it, Kaylee reflected. She thought she could help.

"Inara," she ventured. "Cap'n ain't seein' no one else."

"Kaylee," Inara interjected, warningly, "I told you I'm not interested in hearing you plead his case."

"He ain't that kind of man," Kaylee continued, passionately. "I been on this boat for nearly five years now, Inara, and you know how many women I seen him pursue in that time?" Inara gave her one significant glance, and looked away, silent. "One." She shot Inara a serious look. _You_. She thought Inara understood what she meant.

"I know you're trying to be helpful, Kaylee," Inara said in a controlled voice, "but I know what I saw and what I heard." Kaylee's eyes grew big. "Yes," Inara continued, noting Kaylee's shock and meeting her eyes. "_I_ saw. _I _heard. I'm not relying on anything other than the evidence of my own senses." It took all of Inara's training not to erupt into another impassioned outburst, such were the seething emotions she was feeling just thinking about it again. It took all her control not to scream. _I thought he loved me!_ She wanted to break down and cry on Kaylee's shoulder. Or yell and throw things. But it wouldn't do. She tried to keep her voice calm, tried to sound steely and resolute. "I'm afraid it's all too true." She turned away. "Would you please…leave me alone?"

. . .

She was angry. Angrier than she'd been in years, and that was saying something, because Mal had a natural talent for antagonizing her and she'd been angry with him time and again ever since she first set foot on Serenity.

Everything had _seemed_ to be going so right, and now it was all wrong. That was the problem. Things were seldom as they seemed. He'd _seemed_ sincere in his offer of marriage. He'd _acted_ pleased with her answer. He'd _treated_ their anniversary as something special, and she would have sworn he felt the same as she did about their love. But _he_ hadn't sworn it.

And who paid attention to Zoe—forlorn, widowed, pregnant Zoe? Mal. Of course. They had been laughing together on the bridge. Just what had Mal been saying—or _doing_—to make Zoe laugh? Even Kaylee's attempt to advocate for him only made things worse. _"I been on this boat for nearly five years now, Inara, and you know how many women I seen him pursue in that time? One."_ Zoe. _Of course_, Inara reflected bitterly. Because _she_ hadn't been on board for that long.

It was maddening how he played the innocent. _"I got no idea what I did to make you angry."_ Yeah, right. How could he be so clueless? _No one_ could be so clueless. It was an act, and he was a better actor than she had given him credit for. How could she have been so deceived? She had studied so long how to read people. She had practiced reading people, professionally, for years. She was a _Companion_, for Buddha's sake, a first-class Companion, and reading people was part of her job. But it had always been difficult to read Mal.

She'd had nothing but complaints from him about her profession. Was she supposed to give it all up—for _him?_ That was a pile of 马屎 mǎ shǐ. No, she had read up on it. Companions who took lovers required those lovers to comply with the Guild's rules on non-transactional relationships, or they risked losing their good standing with the Guild. The rules were complicated—as she'd once told Kaylee, when she asked about Companions "dating"—but anyone who truly loved would see they were necessary. Why couldn't Mal see?

Why wouldn't he let her work? He never asked her _not_ to work—not outright. Nothing so straightforward as that. He simply made it impossible for her to do so. She recognized his passive-aggressive tendencies.

And what did he offer her in return for asking such a sacrifice of her? She had thought he offered her his heart, his whole, unswerving, unshakeable fidelity. Unused as she was to such an offering, she had recognized nonetheless the value of such sincere devotion. Well, apparently not. If he could carry on with Zoe, right under her nose, not two weeks after making her an offer of marriage, then his fidelity didn't mean a damn thing. None of it meant a damn thing.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

姐姐 jiějie [older sister]

哦天啊 Ò tiān ā [Gosh]

_青蛙的 乱伦 的 猴子 __qīngwā de luànlún de hóuzi [frog-humping monkey]_

_烂鱼臭 __Làn yú chòu [Rotten fish-stinking]_

_妓女的儿子 __jìnǚ de érzi [son of a whore]_

马屎 mǎ shǐ [horseshit]

* * *

_A/N: 'None of it means a damn thing.' Inara, can you really believe that? Rest assured, dear readers, we'll be moving on from this focus on Inara-angst soon. Get ready for the build-up to the action-packed second half of the story. I wouldn't mind having some feedback in the meantime. :-)_


	14. Chapter 14

Two by Two by Two, Part 6a

_Mal sells fruit._

Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1.

This section rated T.

* * *

Mal waved the wholesale greengrocer. The man was a contact of a contact of a contact. Not the way Mal preferred to do business, but he didn't have much choice. Never having hauled a cargo of fresh produce before, he considered himself lucky to have found a produce broker on Beaumonde willing to deal with the cargo.

Pat Tao was a former Browncoat quartermaster sergeant, a contact Mal had made years ago when he was an infantry sergeant in the Independent Army. Many's the time Mal had charmed a few extra rations for the troops out of Sergeant Tao, and Mal would trust Tao with his life. But there the trust ended. "I don't reckon this woman's all that trustworthy," Tao had told him, "but she runs a network of, uh…business people…who are willing to deal with…goods such as your cargo." _Smuggled goods._ "Not too particular about Alliance inspections and tariff stamps."

Reading between the lines, Mal understood that the woman was a sort of broker of smuggled and black market goods, with some pretensions to kingpinnery—or perhaps queenpinnery was the correct term. Rather like the role Badger filled on Persephone. She'd have a circle of certain officials and inspectors that she had bribed or blackmailed to look the other way when people in her network were handling uncustomed goods in their purview. Mal didn't much like her, but Marcela Devine (he was sure that was not her real name, that she'd adopted it simply to acquire the cachet associated with the Devine line of high-end clothing boutiques) was neither better nor worse than people like Badger and Patience. That is, he suspected that she'd be happy to sell him out for the right price, or shoot him if the transaction went pear-shaped. He could deal.

Devine referred him (for a percentage) to a produce broker named Pugh, who handled wholesale imports bound for the South Sirindhorn Farmers' Market on Beaumonde. It was with him that Mal was speaking now.

"你好 Nǐhǎo. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Marcela Devine recommended your brokerage services to me," Mal commenced his spiel. He laid out the basics of the deal in the usual (that is to say, cagey) way of the typical straightforward shady business transaction. "…Pineapples, watermelons, limes, mangos, and papayas, all in prime condition," he concluded.

"No durians?" Pugh inquired.

"No durians," Mal affirmed.

"Can't sell no durians without making special provision," Pugh warned. "One of them things breaks open in transit, ain't no way you can sneak it past the inspector. It's more than any inspector can credibly manage, to pretend to ignore the smell of one of them things. There's a reason the durian fruit is known as 'the skunk of the orchard'."

Mal reassured the man that his cargo included no durians to strain the olfactory credibility of Pugh's corrupt agricultural inspector.

"Here's the coordinates of where you can park it," Pugh concluded, and the location of a discreet berth appeared on Mal's screen. "I'll meet you there, tomorrow eight a.m. local time."

Mal acknowledged the instructions. "See you in the world." Mal cut the connection and ran his fingers through his hair. Granted, he'd never smuggled produce before, so dealing with Ag Inspectors was a new aspect, but either Pugh put his entire trust in Devine to have vetted Mal and his cargo, or he was up to something. Mal himself wouldn't never have dealt with a smuggler who hadn't answered certain kinds of questions to his satisfaction, and Pugh hadn't even asked. Something wasn't sittin' right about this whole transaction.

. . .

"That do it?" Pugh asked, glancing over his shoulder at the intimidating man who stood behind him, out of range of the wave screen's vid.

"It is an acceptable beginning," the man replied. "I expect your cooperation in this operation."

"Believe me, inspector, you got my full cooperation," Pugh reassured the agricultural inspector, for so the man was.

"You will do what it takes to make sure the crate is loaded onto that ship," the inspector instructed, looming over Pugh so that his badge flashed in the man's face. "That captain must not suspect that I nor any agricultural official has anything to do with that crate."

"He won't know it," Pugh replied.

"Just remember that if he does, I will break you. We have had you under surveillance for a long, long time. I have enough evidence to destroy your operation completely—you, your brother-in-law, and your sister—and Ms Devine does not have enough power to protect you or buy your way out of it." He paused to allow Pugh to feel appropriately intimidated. "If you're unable to convince this smuggler of your sincerity, you're busted. If he won't take the crate, you're busted. If you refuse to participate in this sting, you're busted." He straightened up and walked out of Pugh's personal space. "On the other hand, if you do it right, I can offer you better protection than Marcela Devine ever did."

. . .

Mal had always associated farmers' markets with freshness, natural clean living and good health, and so the slimy feeling he felt after dealing with the black market fruit broker came as something of a surprise. The man had Mal over a barrel, and knew it. Mal knew from the minute he laid eyes on Pugh that he was a rotten apple, but his contacts in the produce world were few, and time was of the essence. The fruit man knew this, and stalled. And the fruit in Serenity's cargo hold got riper. Mal had Kaylee keep the engine running, to power the atmo conditioner and keep the cargo bay cool, but that only slowed things down a mite. Mal wished for Inara's negotiating skills—she would have known how to work around the cussed fruit broker's orneriness.

Inara. Well, right there was another problem. Inara had taken off for downtown New Dunsmuir the minute Serenity got within shuttle range of Beaumonde. He'd tried to talk to her, gone to her locked shuttle door repeatedly, and requested, entreated, begged her to tell him what was wrong, but all his attempts were met with silence or "Go away, Mal," except the one time he'd found the door open. That time his request was met with a fusillade of accurately-aimed small objects, followed by a slam of the door. He was baffled, confused, and upset. He never even had the chance to tell her about the problem with the contraceptives.

And the 该死的 gāisǐde fruit broker delayed, and hedged, and squeezed, until Mal finally agreed to terms far worse than he'd imagined when he took on the cargo. At last the fruits and vegetables were unloaded and Mal was the possessor of a modest-sized bag of coin, free and clear. But he'd been absolutely unable to avoid another encumbrance. The rotten fruit broker had insisted, absolutely stipulated as part of the deal, that Mal take two crates of live chickens to Hektor, Beaumonde's trojan planet. Mal didn't need that cargo; he was certain that Buck Holden had a good cover cargo that would fill his hold. But he'd had to agree, in order to get the fruit sold. And now he was stuck with the chickens. He decided that at least he'd put off loading up the chicken crates until Holden's cargo was aboard and he was ready to leave Beaumonde.

He flew Serenity the short distance round the world from the produce market to Pedro Docks, still thinking on the recent events. The coin was less than he'd hoped, but he'd be able to pay his crew at last, and pay back Simon and the others who had advanced cash to the ship's account on Beylix. He would also pay off Inara's loan, made on Persephone more than two months ago. This last item he was absolutely determined to do, first opportunity he got. He was in the doghouse regarding personal matters—though he still couldn't quite understand the why of it—and it wouldn't do to remain beholden to her financially. He needed to regain some even footing from which to restore his position with respect to her.

He just didn't understand it. Why was Inara so mad at him? He couldn't think of a single thing he'd done to merit such opprobrium. Well, not a single thing recently, 'cause he knew well enough he'd done and said many a thing in times past to hurt her feelings, lashing out at her whenever his own feelings were hurt. He'd hurt her unintentionally, thoughtlessly, and yes, he'd also done it on purpose, when he was angry.

All he had to go on was Inara's words: _go and ask your mistress._ And they thoroughly puzzled him. He had to guess that Inara thought he was two-timing her, but just who did she think he was doing it with? Kaylee? As if anyone could pry that girl out of Simon's bunk. Besides, he thought of her as a sister. River? Guessed he also thought of the Albatross as a kid sister, or maybe as an almost-daughter. River was way too young for a mean old man like him. Zoe? The notion was absurd. After all he and Zoe had been through together….Mayhaps she meant someone off the ship. He just couldn't imagine who. And just when would he have the time to carry on with someone dirtside? He was generally too busy—meeting contacts, making deals, loading and unloading cargo, stocking and re-fueling the ship, gettin' shot at or stabbed….He guessed he'd looked at womenfolk on the various planets and moons they stopped at, but that's about as far as it went. Lookin'. Well, except with Nandi…but that was….He shook off the guilt he felt about Nandi, and kept his train of thought on track. Since he and Inara had first got together, he hadn't even especially looked, because all those looks ever told him was that he was a lucky sumbitch to be with Inara.

The more he thought on it, the more upset he got about the apparent double standard. When they hit a planet, he was supposed to be—what? Happy? Pleased? Or at least accepting that she was gonna fly off and spend her time with someone else, someone not him, doing—whatever Companions did. And Inara expected him to trust her, to believe that, despite all appearances and all history, it didn't involve sex with clients. And yet he caught hell for supposedly carrying on with a phantom mistress that he couldn't even identify.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

你好 Nǐhǎo [Hello]

该死的 gāisǐde [damned]

* * *

_Less angst, more tension, as the plot builds. What's that inspector up to?_


	15. Chapter 15

Two by Two by Two, Part 6b

_Inara sees a doctor. Mal sees the dockyard manager._

Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1.

This section rated T.

* * *

This was not good. This was painful. Why had she ever agreed to do this? Why had she ever thought this was a good idea? Inara stared up at the scalloped patterns on the ceiling of Dr Schneider's therapy room, and was unable to avoid thinking of waves, waves of pain, washing over and through her as Dr Schneider worked the complicated machine. She'd had enough of prodding and needles, and it wasn't even half over.

"Can we change the ceiling?" she asked.

"Certainly," replied the doctor. "There's a menu in the side pocket. Just enter your selection."

She chose an animated rainforest scene, and at first she was pleasantly distracted, watching flights of brightly colored parrots moving through the treetops over her head. The artist had taken great care with the details, and she delightedly watched a tree frog climb up a bromeliad and hop into it with a splash. A scarlet macaw feasted on a ripe mango, until it was scared off by a troop of monkeys that came chattering through the treetops. The monkeys—males and females, adults and juveniles—descended gleefully upon the fruit. She was quite taken with one mother monkey, clutching an adorably cute infant to her chest with one arm, as she swung through the branches with her other arm, legs and tail. The tiny infant clung to her fur, and looked curiously out at the world with bright, big eyes. The mother settled into the crook of a branch and began to nurse the infant. Inara began to cry.

"I'm sorry," Dr Schneider said. "I can give you something for the pain. Or we can take a brief hiatus before we continue with the therapy."

"A hiatus," Inara replied. "I need a break. A little distance, to regain my perspective."

. . .

"You've not been very good at keeping to schedule," Dr Schneider admonished Inara. The treatment was now completed, and she lay on the exam table, somewhat recovered. "I don't think I need to remind you of how important these treatments are. You skip them at your peril. The consequences—"

"I am aware of—" Inara interrupted with heat.

"Mood swings and emotional instability are some of the symptoms of skipping treatments," Dr Schneider remarked pointedly. "I advised you to schedule two treatments within an eight week period. Now you come here, nearly _sixteen _weeks later, and I find you have had only one treatment in the meantime, and it was more than ten weeks ago."

"There have been few opportunities. My transport has been servicing mostly remote worlds on the Rim, worlds without suitable facilities," Inara countered, as she tried not to sound defensive. It wasn't entirely true. Amelioration therapy wasn't available on Bandiagara, but she could have scheduled an appointment on Beylix. She would have had to fly the shuttle to the administrative capital, a good distance round the world from the places Serenity had stopped to do business. Time was tight. And she hadn't wanted to miss the dinner with Juju Kamara.

"Then perhaps you should re-think your choice of transport," Dr Schneider replied. "You may be on the wrong ship."

. . .

"You're not seriously considering pregnancy, with your condition?" Dr Schneider exclaimed. Inara sat in a chair opposite Dr Schneider's desk now, fully clothed and struggling to maintain her poise as they discussed Inara's treatment plan.

Inara was annoyed. Would she have asked, if she didn't want the information? She concealed her feelings and smoothly replied, "In my profession, pregnancy is always a possibility, even if it is a remote one. What I am asking is, what are the risks associated with my condition, and particularly with this therapy, were I to become pregnant?"

"The first part of that question is easy to answer," Dr Schneider replied. "Your condition is a genetic disorder. It is autosomal dominant. You would be very likely to pass it on to your children. Approximately a fifty percent chance, adjusted only for the fact that some fetuses with the genetic mutation spontaneously abort."

"But neither my mother nor my father had this condition," Inara replied. "They were both tested, when I was a child, as soon as it was discovered that I had…"

"Remember, the disorder is genetic, but the mutation that causes it can also arise spontaneously. You needn't have a parent with the condition."

"And what about the therapy?" Inara asked. "How does it affect…"

"This therapy is not approved for pregnant women," Dr Schneider replied. "It simply hasn't been sufficiently tested. Do you have any reason to apprehend that you are pregnant?" she asked with concern.

"No," Inara answered. She'd taken all the usual precautions. The kinds of birth control available to Companions through the Guild were the best in the 'Verse, and while it wasn't absolutely foolproof, she was certain that Mal—even though he was a betraying, 不忠的 山羊 bù zhōng de shānyáng—had been conscientious about using contraceptives. With two lines of protection in place, the possibility was quite remote. And then, of course, there was the fact that she had excluded Mal from her bed for the past week. Nothing was more effective at preventing pregnancy than abstinence. Which was a good thing, considering how irregular her cycles had become. "I merely wish to be correctly informed. What risks does this therapy pose for pregnant women?"

"There's been very little research specifically on the subject of pregnancy and your condition. Very few people with your condition ever consider unassisted pregnancy. In fact many of them forego childbearing altogether, as you can readily understand." Inara did _not_ understand, and was annoyed by Dr Schneider's supposition that people with her condition would not want to be parents. She kept her features schooled in an expression that gave nothing away.

"People with your condition," Dr Schneider continued, "_if_ they are determined to have a child," and again Inara felt that twinge of annoyance, "should never attempt a pregnancy without the assistance of in vitro fertilization and genetic screening. The risk is simply too high. If their partner also has the condition, we recommend the use of a donor, even if the partner does not have the more serious Kossiakoff form as you do." She eyed Inara seriously, and again Inara felt she was being judged. "It's advisable in order to improve the odds of a healthy embryo," the doctor added.

Inara nodded, but Dr Schneider was not finished. "In addition, the medication you're taking is not approved for use during pregnancy. You would need to suspend using it during the time you were attempting to conceive, and throughout the pregnancy, should the effort be successful." Dr Schneider was shaking her head sadly. "It's likely that your condition would deteriorate during this time, although to tell the truth, it hasn't been well studied. Little is known about the effects that the hormonal changes associated with pregnancy would have on your condition."

Inara felt like she was climbing a hill that was growing into an ever-higher mountain peak even as she tried to gain ground. "We'd also need to cease amelioration therapy. In general, we try to avoid subjecting fetuses to magnetic fields this strong. Particularly embryos in the earliest stages of development. The research is inconclusive, but there's some thought that the therapy might disturb early development, even arrest it." Dr Schneider looked her directly in the eye. "If you should find that you are pregnant, you must not undergo amelioration therapy during the pregnancy, particularly during the first trimester."

. . .

Mal made his way to the dockyard office. Unlike the Port Authority office, which was where the official business of permits, landings, tariffs, and all was carried out, the dockyard office was the place of business of the woman who actually ran the dockyard facility day-to-day, Mrs Li. She was an elderly lady, short of stature, but full of goodwill. Dockyards could be rough places, but Mrs Li brought a human touch to Pedro Docks, and despite the sometimes rough nature of the customers, Pedro Docks felt like a family business.

"Mal, my dear boy, so good to see you back at Pedro!"

"Mrs Li, 这是很高兴见到您。Zhè shì hěn gāoxìng jiàndào nín."

"Are you here to stay? Or just quick drop, again?"

"No, Mrs Li, it's another short stop this time. Just arranging a cargo with Holden Brothers, and expecting a delivery, then we're off into the Black again."

"You know that when you finally settle down, you do it here. I want to adopt you."

He smiled at Mrs Li. "Couldn't do better than to have a ma like you. Any deliveries for Serenity?"

"No mail, son, you know you have to visit post office for that. But there was crate delivered for you not two days ago."

Mal wondered if it was the chickens—in which case the fruit man had broken his word, and the poor birds would have been sweltering within the confines of their crate in the dockyard for the past two days. "Live cargo? Two crates? Still clucking?"

"No, no. Just one crate, small, but heavy. Machine, not chickens. You expecting chickens?"

Mal heaved a sigh. "Yes, Mrs Li. My main cargo is a run for Holden Brothers, but yeah, I'm also expecting two crates of live chickens. Couldn't say no." He signed for the crate.

"Come back around the counter and help me. The crate is heavy. Too heavy for old woman like me to carry."

"Ain't none of your boys here?" Mal queried. Mrs Li's eldest son Boqin, nearly two decades Mal's senior in age, supervised the longshoremen who loaded and unloaded most of the heavy cargo at Pedro. "Or your gals?"

"Oh, they're out and about. Huian is taking leave of absence. She went to help her daughter with new baby. And Shuan went with her."

"Can't believe your daughters are old enough to be grandmas."

Mal stepped around the counter and followed Mrs Li to the storage room, where she indicated the crate. He bent over to pick it up off the floor, and once again Mrs Li found herself admiring the view. He was much, much too young for her—younger than her youngest son—and she had long since decided that her affection for him was motherly. Still, he oughtn't to wear those tight pants unless he wanted to attract a certain kind of attention. Then again, maybe he knew that perfectly well. He was one of her favorite captains, of the many who stopped in at Pedro dockyard. Always well-mannered, and paid his docking fees properly, even if he did have a propensity for making hasty departures.

"Come, put that down over here," she said. "Come have nice friendly cup of tea with me."

Mal's business with Mrs Li was far from over. The crate undoubtedly contained the navsat he had ordered the instant he had cash in hand from the fruit sale, and the fact that it had arrived so quickly from the Beaumonde factory was pleasing. But he still had some important and uncomfortable inquiries to make of Mrs Li, and he figured that they might be more easily made over tea. He followed her into the back office, and sat on the chair she indicated while she prepared the tea.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

不忠的 山羊 bù zhōng de shānyáng [unfaithful goat]

这是很高兴见到您。Zhè shì hěn gāoxìng jiàndào nín. [It's good to see you]

* * *

_A/N: I hope you don't mind Mrs Li's accent. As I wrote her, she insisted upon behaving a bit like my great grandmother, who spoke English with an accent, so I ended up writing her as sounding a bit like my great grandmother. Don't forget to review. :-)_


	16. Chapter 16

Two by Two by Two, Part 6c

_Mrs Li offers free advice, tea and cookies. Inara conducts some business._

Rating: Please read the rating note on Chapter 1.

This section rated T+, verging on M, for non-graphic sexual content.

* * *

It wasn't exactly the formal tea ceremony, but Mrs Li made more of a fuss over tea-making than almost anyone Mal knew except Inara. Inara. 该死 Gāisǐ. He breathed carefully until the heartache passed. It was just so confusing. Why couldn't she just tell him exactly what was wrong, so he could try to fix it?

"So, what is new?" Mrs Li was saying, eager for gossip. "You are well? Your crew is well? Any new ties? You have girlfriend?" She saw a conscious look cross his face and knew she was on the right track. This was exciting. "You get married?" she speculated.

"No, not married," he replied, with a grim smile. "Not for want of trying. I asked her."

"You asked her!" Mrs Li exclaimed delightedly, clapping her hands together. "That is good! Who you ask?" she added, then, unable to resist speculating, she continued, "Not your beautiful first mate, she still too new a widow. Oh! Your sunshine mechanic!" Mal would have been annoyed had anyone else discussed his personal life like this, but Mrs Li was such a _genuine_ busybody that it was hard to avoid being amused. He knew she had a fondness for his whole crew, all the ones she knew, anyway. "No, wait, she already have boyfriend." Mrs Li considered for a moment, and a thought struck her. "She still have boyfriend?"

Mal nodded.

"Okay, then. No sunshine for you. Oh, oh, oh—you're not marrying your little pilot girl, are you?" Mrs Li inquired warningly. "She too young for you. Much too young." She considered a moment. "Well, maybe not. What is the formula? What your age, Mal?" she asked, not giving him a chance to answer. "Thirty-two, right? Divide by two, add seven. Pilot girl is not yet twenty-five, no older than twenty-one. No good, no good."

Mrs Li's math was off, but Mal had to smile as her mouth ran as fast as, or faster than, her thoughts.

How her favorite captain had stayed single so long, on a ship surrounded by beautiful women, she did not know. She considered the possibilities. "Ah! I have it," she exclaimed. "Your lady passenger. You ask her." Mrs Li paused and watched the blush creep up his face. She knew she was right. "Ah, you aim high. She's beautiful." When he didn't speak, she speculated further. "You ask her. What's the matter? She not say yes?" He didn't answer and he kept his features calm, but his eyes glistened, and she knew what had happened. "She say no. Oh, Malcolm, honey, that is too bad. She doesn't know what she's missing. Drink your tea. Do you want a cookie?"

Mal couldn't sit still for that kind of treatment. _Cookies!_ He waved away the plate she offered. "Mrs Li, I can't have you thinking that. She said, we'd wait and see…and all was goin' well, until ten days ago, when we—well, we had words."

"Oh, no, honey, that is not good—"

Mal cut her off before she could leap the fence into the field of wild speculations again. "She thought I was bein'…unfaithful. I honestly don't know why. And now she won't speak to me. And really, Mrs Li, that is all I got to say about it."

"Hmm. That still is not good—" she stopped. She did not want to upset the dear boy any further with her chatter. But she was incapable of maintaining silence, so she opened her mouth, ready to start a new hare, when the young captain spoke.

"Mrs Li, I hate to bring this up, but I thought you should know. Last time I brought Serenity to Pedro Docks, she was sabotaged while she was here."

"Sabotage! Oh, no, no, _no_. That should not happen here. Are you sure—?"

"It's a certainty," Mal replied. "My ship's navigation and communication systems blew out, not a day out from Beaumonde. We found the remains of plastic explosives and a timing device."

"Oh, Malcolm, honey, you could have been hurt! You could have been killed!" Mrs Li was genuinely shocked, and he considered it highly unlikely she had anything to do with the sabotage.

"Well, we weren't killed, and we fixed the ship—'cept for the back-up navsat, that's what came in the box today…"

"Did they catch the bad guys?"

Mal looked questioningly at Mrs Li.

"The bad guys who do this—to your ship, in _my _dockyard." Mrs Li was indignant.

"No, ma'am, not as I've heard. We still don't know who did it, and that's why I wanted to ask you, Mrs Li—do you keep any surveillance footage here at Pedro? Maybe we can figure out who was lurking around my boat last time I was here."

"You want to look at footage? We keep for six months. Come," she insisted, pulling him by the hand. "Sit." She placed him at her desk, while she activated the video surveillance archive system. "When you were here? What, three months? Four?" Mal gave her the date, and she went searching through her archive, biting her lip and muttering, until finally she said, "坏了 Huài le!"

Mal looked at her in surprise. In his view, "坏了 Huài le" was much too mild a swear word to do justice to the situation.

"Oh, I am sorry. Please excuse my bad language." Mal had to smile at Mrs Li's quaint manners. "Someone has tampered with the archive. All the vid files from that week have been deleted."

"Really? Now that is odd. Who has access—?" he began, but soon realized it was a useless question. Mrs Li, her sons and daughters, their spouses, grandchildren, any of a large number of dockworkers and office employees, visiting captains and crew enjoying Mrs Li's kind hospitality, friends, acquaintances, extended family—and anyone with a will to do it, who could find a way in during an unguarded moment. Mrs Li, meanwhile, was keeping up a steady stream of indignation at the invasion of her private office by parties unknown.

"I cannot believe, who would do such a thing? These are bad, bad, people. What is the world coming to? Mal, dear, you would not believe, the kind of people we see sometimes, right here at Pedro. Why, a few months ago I found four mean-looking 流氓 liúmáng wandering around the dockyard in a daze. Wearing misfit policeman clothes, all wrong! I'm sure 他们是捣乱 tāmen shì dǎoluàn, but they were not in their right heads. I had Boqin escort them off the dock. Never did know what they were doing here."

"Mrs Li," Mal said, a little disconcerted at her tale of the four thugs, "do you suppose I could trouble you further? I'm wondering if it's possible to provide a little extra security for Serenity. Do you think—"

"Mal, honey, I will ask Boqin to watch your ship. I cannot have it getting around that ships at Pedro get sabotaged. Bad for business. Please, dear boy, do not say a word. Boqin will watch your ship. You promise?"

That was a turning of the tables. Mal had thought he'd be obligated to Mrs Li for her help; now she was asking him not to reveal the security holes in her operation. "Yes, Mrs Li, I won't speak of it. 谢谢您 Xièxie nín."

"Do not mention. And—honey? You buy girlfriend flowers, jewelry. Tell her sorry you so 顽固 wángù—not true! I know, but you say anyway—and ask her will she forgive." Mrs Li reached a hand toward Mal, as if she would pinch or pat him on the cheek. Mal hastily took his leave. "Necklace is good!" she called after him. "Or bracelet."

. . .

This was a disaster. A bad idea, start to finish. She never wanted to do this again, she thought, as she stared up at the ceiling.

The ceiling was dull, off-white. Someone had attempted to brighten the room by affixing a border of printed wallpaper to the top of the wall near the strip of molding. It was an attempt to be classy but the design was poorly balanced and the colors ill-matched, and the effect was cheesy. The 风水 fēng shuǐ of the place was completely off. Inara's mind wandered as her body performed flawlessly, bringing him to a climax.

And then it was over, thank Buddha, and he collapsed heavily on top of her, crushing her ribcage and sending an involuntary expulsion of air out of her lungs. "Ooofff!" He didn't give her a chance to breathe in before he planted a sloppy wet kiss on her lips. The minty mouthwash he had used did not quite cover up the bacterial reek of his infected tonsils. Finally, he broke the kiss and she could inhale, pushing aside the black spots that had threatened to engulf her vision.

"Fantastic," he said, adding with a smirk, "and you weren't so bad yourself, baby."

She flashed him a blissful smile, even as she inwardly rolled her eyes, thinking, "混帐 Hún zhàng." He rolled off her, turned his back on her, passed some gas, and fell asleep.

_Why did I ever think this would be a good idea?_ she thought, as she lay awake next to her softly snuffling client. The man had met all the proper selection criteria. She had approached the selection process rationally, meditating beforehand to clear her head, just to be sure that she wasn't doing this in a fit of pique, to get back at Mal for betraying her. And to be sure she wasn't just looking for a rebound fling on the heels of their breakup. She would not think about Mal. This was her job, her profession, her avocation. It was what she wanted to be doing, what she was trained to do, what she was born to do. Mal had nothing to do with this. Damn it, she was thinking of Mal.

She met the client at The Renaissance. He was well-mannered, clean, and good-looking. He was impeccably dressed, with understated good taste. He escorted her to dinner and they dined on Chef Gallileo's exquisite eleven-course tasting menu. They discoursed upon general topics until she discovered his areas of particular interest. Then she engaged him in intelligent conversation, letting him soar and wax poetical about the subjects closest to his heart. He spoke suavely, with assurance, in a cultured voice. Things were going well. She was not thinking of Mal.

After dinner, they danced, her feet executing the well-known steps, unobtrusively leading her partner to lead her in moves he didn't know he could lead. He felt he had never danced so well in his life, and enjoyed himself thoroughly. Mal would have enjoyed the dancing, too, but he wasn't there. She was not thinking of him.

Later, in the privacy of the hotel suite, the client undressed her, tediously spinning out the process while she concealed her yawns behind her perfect mask of pleasure. When he had spun things out long enough, according to his lights, he climbed on and set about it, never once stopping until the deed was done. And she watched the boring ceiling while fulfilling her contract. She had no idea what the ceiling in Mal's bunk was like. She'd never looked. She was _not_ thinking of Mal! She was thinking of her client. Tomorrow he would awake and leave the hotel a perfectly satisfied man.

Mal would have known she was faking it all, because he loved her.

Except Mal would not have known she was faking it all, because with Mal, there was no need to fake anything. It was all true. It was the real thing. Because she loved him.

What was she doing here, in bed with a stranger?

. . .

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glossary

该死 Gāisǐ [Damn]

坏了 Huài le [very bad]

流氓 liúmáng [hoodlums]

他们是捣乱 tāmen shì dǎoluàn [they were troublemakers]

谢谢您 Xièxie nín [Thank you (polite form)]

顽固 wángù [stubborn]

风水 fēngshuǐ [feng shui]

混帐 Hún zhàng [Asshole]

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_Share your thoughts...click that shiny review button._


	17. Chapter 17

Two by Two by Two, Part 7a

_Mal and Zoe cool their heels._

This chapter rated K+.

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Mal and Zoe checked over their sidearms in preparation for their meeting with Buck Holden. "I want Serenity buttoned up tight while we're here at Pedro Docks," Mal directed Kaylee. "Mrs Li's son Boqin is providing some extra security, hopefully that'll prevent any saboteur gettin' up on top of the boat." _Like last time we parked here on Beaumonde_, he omitted saying. Everybody knew what he was thinking. "Don't let nobody aboard without they have prior approval."

"What if it's the police, Cap'n?" Kaylee asked, nervously. Last time on Beaumonde, she'd let a group of four thugs aboard—thugs who were dressed as police officers.

"If it's police, they gotta show you a proper search warrant afore you let them on. You don't let nobody on—not the law, not the Feds, not nobody—unless they got the proper paperwork. They give you a hard time, you wave me immediately. I know you got a lot on your plate, Kaylee, but we gotta get that navsat installed before we fly." He turned to Simon, River, and Ip. "I know you all got errands you need to do in town, so you go ahead and do them. And when you get back to the ship, make yourselves known to Kaylee so she don't get spooked. And if you think you're bein' followed by someone—let's say, a saboteur for instance—don't lead 'em straight to Serenity. Go somewhere safe—"

"Just what do you mean by 'safe,' Captain?" Ip inquired.

"—well, saf_er_, anyways—go to a public place, plenty of people, be conspicuous. Can't kidnap you or take you down easy in front of witnesses. Anyways, you think you're bein' followed, you wave me and Zoe, we'll come and deal with it—"

"What about me, Mal?" Jayne asked. "'m I comin' along to Holden's office with you two?"

"Nope," Mal answered. Buck Holden had as good as told them they'd be sittin' around waiting for hours at his office, in order to throw the mole off the scent, and Mal didn't have any desire to take Jayne along. "I ain't babysittin' you, Jayne, nor listening to you complain as how you've missed your lunch hour. You're gonna get Serenity fueled up, and re-stock food and water. You get that finished, you can take a run of the town, do—whatever it is you need to get done—and be back to the ship by evening."

Simon headed into town to re-stock Serenity's infirmary—and buy a ring for Kaylee, Mal knew, but he wasn't about to spoil the surprise. River and Ip were headed over to Reed Labs, and then the university, to check up on some potential tech jobs. Mal locked eyes with Zoe. _Ready to head to Holden Brothers?_ Hopefully see everybody home to roost by evening, having done what they set out to do, and no egg on their face. Oh yeah, one more thing. Mal turned back to Kaylee.

"Kaylee—" he began.

"Cap'n," she interrupted. "We need ta talk. It's about—"

"Kaylee," he continued, "need you to wave the rotten fruit broker." Kaylee had been trying to corner him for days now. He knew she wanted to buttonhole him for a private talk, and he knew it wasn't to do with ship repairs or a wish list of spare engine parts, neither. She wanted to talk relationships, but whether it was his or hers she was wanting to talk about, now just wasn't the time. He was here to do business, and he needed to keep his head clear. Clear of all that personal relationship 屁話 pìhuà. "Tell Pugh to deliver the gorram chickens to Pedro Docks by evening, if he wants 'em to fly on my boat."

. . .

They'd run the gauntlet of the politely rude receptionist, who pretended to have work to do as soon as they walked in the door, who omitted all the common courtesies like "please" and "sir" and even "hello," and who took her time locating evidence of Mal's appointment. After being shown into a waiting room, Mal and Zoe settled down for what promised to be a wait of several hours. But this time they were prepared to cool their heels, and it felt like a rare bit of downtime, some real R and R. Zoe claimed the long sofa, piling extra cushions against the end, leaning back, and elevating her legs. Mal pulled a second chair over and propped up his feet.

"Whatcha readin', Zoe?" Mal asked, noticing that his first officer had pulled out an old-fashioned book made with real paper.

"Poetry, sir."

"Poetry, eh?" Mal responded. "Didn't know you liked poetry, Zoe." Funny how you could be best friends for well over a decade and still learn somethin' new.

"It's one of Wash's books, sir. I been readin' 'em," she replied tersely. She opened her book to a marker near the middle and was soon absorbed in it.

Mal pulled out the electronic tablet he'd borrowed from Simon and inserted the data stick. It offered him a library of choices, and soon he'd made his selection. Hadn't read this one in years. Since before the War, in fact. First read it when he was nineteen, and re-read parts of it since then, but never revisited it since the War. He was curious as to whether it would still ring true.

Soon he was caught up in the opening chapter. Took him straight to Inara's world. He imagined the politically-connected hostess Anna Pavlovna was like Inara's mother, or—no, not her mother, would have to be her House Mistress, doing and arranging, swinging deals under the guise of havin' a party. Prince Ippolit—Jayne would make a good Ippolit, with his pointless anecdotes. Pierre—Simon or Dr Ip, either one could be the intellectual fish-out-of-water. Natasha—Kaylee had that same spark of life. Prince Anatol—well, didn't have to think too hard on that one. That 混蛋 húndàn Atherton Wing fit the part, easy. Vera—oh he'd known plenty of Veras, and plenty of Bergs. They were just like everybody else. He'd also met plenty of Anna Mikhailovnas, all maneuvering to get the best they could for them and theirs. Now, who of these men would be Inara's clients? Probably any one of 'em, from Ellen's old goat of a father Prince Vasily right down to young Boris, and not excluding the priest, Abbé Morio, neither. Prince Andrei? Nah, the man was acting revolting at the moment, ignoring his pregnant wife and bored with everything and everyone and not cherishing the good things he had in front of him, but as Mal recalled he showed his spark of intelligence not a moment later, and became a much more appealing character. And Inara herself—well, she was as beautiful as Ellen, but much more intelligent, and not so heartless. Not Lisa—she had more depth. Not Natasha—Natasha was too much of an innocent, though she had that same sparkle. Not Princess Marya—too serious, although the soulful caring part was spot on. No, none of these women was Inara. Inara was one-of-a-kind…

"What're _you_ readin', sir?" Zoe's question startled him out of his reverie.

"_War and Peace_," he answered.

"耶稣 Yēsū, you think we're gonna be waitin' _that_ long?"

. . .

"—those matreshka dolls you drew," Ip was saying, as he and River walked along the street toward Reed Labs. Professor Rao had advised Ip that one of her colleagues had special-ordered some custom-made lab equipment, and Ip was working on arranging for Serenity to be the ship that carried the gear to Bernadette.

"Recursively nesting dolls," River corrected, sharply. "Little ones inside the belly of the mother."

"They're called matreshka dolls, in Russian," Ip said.

"I don't like Russian," River stated severely. "She _eats_ them alive."

"Alright, alright," Ip said, conciliatingly, though he wondered why she objected to Russian. And he didn't understand what she meant about the mother eating them alive. Although, certainly the little ones _were _inside the big one. "I was just going to say, I liked them. You draw very well."

"Thank you," said River. "But don't ever call them—"

_Matreshka, _Ip filled in, in his mind. But he was wise enough not to say it.

"I know you were thinking it!" River accused.

"You can't go to jail for what you're thinking," Ip replied.

"Wanna bet?" River retorted, in a voice that caused Ip to look at her sharply. She was not bantering. She was deadly serious.

That gave Ip something to ponder.

. . .

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glossary

屁話 pìhuà [nonsense]

混蛋 húndàn [asshole]

耶稣 Yēsū [Jesus]

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A/N: River's dislike of things Russian stems simply from the fact that the "safeword" used to control her is a Russian phrase, _Э__t__о курам на смех (Eto kuram na smekh)._


	18. Chapter 18

Two by Two by Two, Part 7b

_Mal and Zoe strike a deal, and Simon looks for a ring and a license._

This chapter rated K+.

_A/N: I was hoping to post this yesterday, but the area I live in was affected by an extended power outage, and internet has still not been restored. Today the local library is back in business, and I'm able to post._

* * *

"You need to raise it by thirty percent," Mal said, "_in advance._"

"Thirty percent!" Buck Holden exclaimed. "Do you think I'm made of money, Mal?"

Mal maintained his silence. Zoe contributed a steely stare.

"What have you done that deserves such high payment?" Buck demanded.

"Delivered your last cargo," Mal replied, "and lived."

Buck was silent a moment. "Look, Mal, I appreciate the risks you took, delivering that last one…"

"And I do, too," Mal inserted, "which is why you're gonna be paying me more this time. You're asking me to risk my ship, my life, the lives of my entire crew. It's not just a matter of risking gettin' caught, fined, or put in jail. My ship was sabotaged, disabled, and if we hadn't had the skills—and very good luck to boot—we'd still be drifting, somewhere in the Black, with no nav, helm, or comm, all froze to death or blown up or set upon by Reavers."

"You don't know that the sabotage had anything to do with the job. Hell, Mal, you've got enough enemies. Didn't need my help to make 'em. Could've been any one of 'em."

"Could've," Mal allowed. "But I don't think it was. You don't know that the sabotage _didn't_ have nothin' to do with the job. The timing was too close to be a coincidence. And the muck-up job was too professional, too well-planned, to be anyone but a well-supported operator with inside information and deep pockets. Which all points to your friends with the teeth that come outta the Black to bite you."

Buck was silent a moment, digesting this. That was what he'd called Blue Sun's people, last time. They were negotiating the deal in the bug-free safe zone of his office, but he still was reluctant to mention Blue Sun by name and appreciated Mal's discretion on that point.

"Now I might be willing to waive part of that pay raise you're gonna give me," Mal offered, "if you can help me fence my latest cargo." Buck sat up straight. Zoe had hinted at something valuable, and illegal, that Serenity was carrying. Now the story was gonna come out. "You recall your parting words to me, last time I visited your fine and shiny office?"

Buck smiled. He'd enjoyed that bit of play-acting. "'I wouldn't trust you with a cargo of junkyard scrap on that bucket of bolts you fly'," he quoted.

"Yeah, well, keep 'em coming, 'cause what you said then gave me an idea. We were on Beylix, just got paid for a job but the funds were locked down—contact didn't have no clue when to pay credit and when to pay cashy money," Mal said in an aside, knowing Buck would be flattered—and that he would also get the hint. "Ship in desperate need of repairs, and us turnin' our pockets inside out tryin' to come up with enough coin to fuel her and take on food."

"How'd you get a job on Beylix?" Buck interrupted. "I mean, other than reclaimed metal and plastic, and enriched soil—which I _know_ your ship is not equipped to haul—there're no significant exports from that world. All they got there is garbage—oh."

"We visited the dump, took on a cargo hold full of gleanings from the trash heap. My mechanic turned 'em into pumps, and generators, and vehicles as worked. Flew 'em over to Bandiagara—"

"Bandiagara! That underdeveloped far fringe of the Rim! They don't have two credits to rub together on that whole world. All the trade is owned by 狐狸 Húli Network, which runs it as a charity operation to generate goodwill in the Core."

"Bandiagara is cash-poor," Mal allowed, "but rich in resources."

"They don't have anything on that world but mineral reserves," Buck countered, "and the rights to those are owned by Allmine. Got the local government in the palm of their hand. No one else can work there. If it weren't for 狐狸 Húli Network, the population would starve—"

"They wouldn't," Mal interrupted. "I just carried a shipload of the finest produce in the 'Verse from Bandiagara to market on Beaumonde. Ate like kings the whole time we were there. Those folks have got plenty to trade. What they don't have is a market. Between Allmine and 狐狸 Húli Network—both divisions of Blue Sun, bye-the-bye—the whole planet's in lock-down, and they don't got no way to get their goods off-planet to the people what need 'em." He paused, letting Buck take in his words. Holden was a shrewd businessman, he would figure it out. Mal reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small bag. "I took your advice, Buck. I hauled a load of junkyard scrap to Bandiagara on that bucket of bolts of mine. But one man's trash is another man's treasure." He poured the contents of the bag into his hand. "Turned that garbage into a load of timonium." He selected a large, transparent blue crystal and held it out towards Buck Holden. "Got lots more, just like it."

. . .

Simon arranged for the medical supplies to be delivered to Serenity, then stopped by a jeweller's shop to buy a ring for Kaylee. He'd taken the precaution of measuring her ring finger while she slept, so that there would be no question of the ring fitting properly. He knew that, romantic feelings aside, Kaylee needed something that wouldn't get in the way of her work. She loved things that were fouffy and feminine, but she was also practical. It wouldn't do if she had to remove her ring every time she needed to work on the engine. He chose an exquisitely worked band with a low-profile setting, and as large a rock as he could afford.

With his pocket considerably lighter, and with the small box tucked underneath his vest, Simon exited the jeweler's shop and headed to a public access cortex screen for his last item of business off-ship. Ignoring the blaring of advertising jingles and the blinking of brightly-colored animated octopuses hawking snack foods, he proceeded to look up the requirements for legal marriage on the cortex.

He didn't want to be the father of an out-of-wedlock child. It went against his sense of propriety. He also didn't want to opt for simple cohabitation—completely aside from the fact that Mal would probably kill him if he did—because it also went against his sense of propriety. He wanted to marry Kaylee properly. There was a great variety of local marriage customs (witness the Captain's unwitting marriage to Saffron on Triumph), but certain requirements had to be fulfilled for a marriage to be legal.

He had to admit, his first notion had been that Kaylee and he could marry aboard Serenity, with Mal officiating. He'd heard that captains could perform marriages aboard ship. While that seemed like a great idea, it turned out there were problems. For the marriage to be legal, the captain had to be a legally recognized officiant. A notary public, a justice of the peace, a judge, or a minister of religion—Simon laughed out loud imagining Mal meeting any of those qualifications. Mal's specialty was staying _unrecognized_ by the law. So that idea was scuttled.

Shepherd Book, as an ordained minister, could have performed the marriage. Simon had mourned for Book's death, but never had he felt his loss in such a practical and selfish way.

He toyed with the idea of having Mal perform the ceremony anyway, and then just declare that they were married under common law. Simon found the idea of not having to obtain a government-issued license very appealing. He had become extremely cautious about doing anything officially registered or government-traceable, ever since he had broken River out of the Academy. His arrest warrant might have been rescinded, but that didn't mean no one was looking for him—and River—and he didn't want the registration of his marriage to be the occasion for tipping off some pursuer as to his or River's whereabouts. Or—now here was a new thought—_his wife's_ whereabouts.

But it turned out that a common law marriage was not so simple, either. First of all, only about half of the settled worlds had a provision in the law recognizing common-law marriage as valid. The legal requirements varied from world to world, but they all had a few things in common. The participants had to be of legal age and unmarried. (The fact that Saffron was still married to Durran Haymer—and others, most likely—had saved the Captain on Triumph.) They had to declare that they intended to be married to each other, and refer to each other as husband and wife. (Simon really didn't think that would be a problem for him and Kaylee.) Cohabitation was a requirement. (Simon _knew_ that wasn't a problem.) They had to have legal residency in the jurisdiction in which the marriage was contracted. And that, Simon found, was the problem.

Kaylee's native world was Harvest, but her legal residence was Serenity. Simon's legal status on Osiris had been revoked when he became a fugitive, and he no longer had an official legal residence. Mal had hedged on Serenity's registration papers and omitted filing Simon and River's names among the crew. Serenity had been registered on Hera, and Mal had recently renewed the registration on Persephone, but it turned out that merchant ships like Serenity all fell under the jurisdiction of the central government. Aside from the fact that Simon had no desire to involve the Alliance in his personal life, federal statutes made no provision for common-law marriage.

That left marriage by license as the remaining option. Each world had its own rules, and Simon went through them systematically, looking for the magic combination of a world they were likely to visit reasonably soon with requirements that he could actually fulfill.

As Simon paged through marriage license requirements on Persephone, Beylix, Verbena, Paquin, and Beaumonde, he missed the public service advertisement that showed up on the cortex screen directly to his right. "Have you seen me?" read the banner, and a series of children's pictures cycled across the screen. In most cases, the picture showed the child at the time he or she went missing, followed by an age-progression picture postulating the child's current appearance. In some cases, the picture was accompanied by a picture of another person and the words: "Last seen with…" If he had looked, he might have seen a picture of River Tam flash across the screen. River Tam at age seventeen, age progressed to nineteen, last seen with Simon Tam.

. . .

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glossary

狐狸 Húli [fox]

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_Please leave a review. _


	19. Chapter 19

Two by Two by Two, Part 7c

_Simon goes to court, and River and Ip have lunch._

This chapter rated K+.

_A/N: I want to take a moment to thank all the anonymous reviewers for their comments and feedback. I appreciate it very much. If you sign in when you review, I will thank you personally and respond to your particular concerns, rather than with this generic response. :-)_

* * *

Simon's systematic diligence had paid off. Beaumonde, the very world he stood upon right now, had the right combination of requirements. A marriage license could be obtained by either bride or groom, by appearing in person at any marriage registry office. Beaumonde residency was not required. There was no waiting period and the license was valid for up to six months after issue. Once the license was obtained, you could be married by an officiant of your choosing—and here was the best part: if you were married in a ceremony pertaining to a religion or creed that did not have clergy (Simon could think of several, from the Quakers to the Ethical Humanists), _any_ two adults could oversee the ceremony and attest to the veracity of the marriage. Once the ceremony was complete and the bride, groom, and witnesses had signed the form, it could be sent to the registry office whence it was issued, and the marriage was legally valid.

The only hitch was that the nearest marriage registry office was located within the courthouse of New Dunsmuir. Furthermore, the nearest office not located in a courthouse was not even on this continent. Simon sighed, knowing that he didn't have any option but to go to the New Dunsmuir Courthouse.

Before he could work himself up into a state of tightly-wound anxiety, Simon directed his steps to the courthouse, and to his credit he paused only a moment to gaze at the imposing portico before biting the bullet and entering the building.

It felt very strange to be voluntarily entering a courthouse—passing through a checkpoint manned by a dozen armed police officers. He removed his pocket pistol and placed it in a checkbox, then submitted to a weapon scan and frisking by a hard-faced policewoman who looked as if arresting someone would just make her day. Although he kept his notice of rescindment on his person whenever he was out and about on a civilized world, Simon had become so accustomed to being a fugitive from the law that it was hard to behave like an innocent man. He was sure that he would be arrested for skulking, at the very least, and he was amazed when he passed through the checkpoint without incident.

He consulted the directory and made his way upstairs to the Marriage Registry Office.

There was a crowd of people waiting in the office. Some of them were there obtain licenses or file paperwork; others clearly were waiting for the justice of the peace or judge on duty to perform the ceremony.

"Sir, 我可以帮你吗 wǒ kěyǐ bāng nǐ ma?" the assistant clerk asked him when he reached the head of the line.

"Yes, please," Simon replied. "I would like to apply for a marriage license."

The clerk glanced up sharply at his Osiris accent. It was unusual for a Core-worlder to apply for a license at the New Dunsmuir registry office. He handed him a set of electronic papers. "You fill these out, and file them at that counter over there. Once the license is issued, it's good for six months, and you're free to marry, in a civil or religious ceremony performed by an authorized person, or here at the registry office. We do not take appointments for registry office marriages, and you would have to wait in line," he added, indicating a number of couples seated at one end of the room. "The signed license must be returned within six months, or you have to re-apply. The twenty credit fee is payable at time of application."

Simon thanked the assistant clerk, took the papers, and sat down to look them over. The longer he looked, the worse it got. The amount of personal information he was required to divulge was extraordinary. His name and social control number, of course. His parents' names and social control numbers. Every address he had ever lived at. Had he ever been convicted of a crime? Had he ever been bound by law? Had he ever been pulled over for speeding, fined for a parking violation, caught jaywalking, spat in public, littered, or taken seconds when not everybody had their firsts? Well, okay, it didn't actually ask those last questions, but it was intrusive beyond anything he had expected. Gritting his teeth, he filled out the 该死的 gāisǐde form and submitted it to the licensing registrar along with his fee. Then he sat down to wait for the license to be issued.

After a while, Simon began to get an uneasy feeling and looked up to meet the eye of the assistant clerk. Why was the man staring at him? Or was the man staring at the wall above him?

Simon turned and looked at the wall just above his head. The large cortex screen mounted there for the entertainment of those waiting in the registry office (and the distraction of the clerks) was displaying missing children reports. "Have you seen me?" the words read. His sister's face gazed out of the screen. "Last seen with…" he read, in large letters. Directly below it was his own name, and Simon found himself staring at his own face. It took all his effort of will not to start violently, and he could not prevent himself from stiffening. He instinctively touched the notice of rescindment in his pocket, as if it were a protective talisman. The warrant for his arrest had been rescinded, but that made no practical difference. He was still the last person seen with a missing child. The fact that River had been nearly of legal age and that he was her brother made no difference. She was a minor when she went "missing," and he had no legal guardianship of her. Oh, 狗屎 gǒushǐ. Gorram, 他妈的 tāmādē, rutting 狗屎 gǒushǐ. What was he doing in a _courthouse_, for Buddha's sake? Walking into a gorram 地狱之火 dìyù zhī huǒ courthouse in broad daylight with his face plastered all over the cortex! He forced himself to wait until the screens shifted to display another set of missing children, then turned to face forward again and meet the gaze of the assistant clerk.

The clerk stared back at him, and looked like he was going to ask him a question, but at that moment the licensing registrar called out, "Simon Tam!" Simon stood up, nodded vaguely to the assistant clerk, who was still staring at him, and walked—forced himself to walk, not run—to the counter and picked up the license. Then, though it took all his effort to appear calm, he walked out the door.

It was all he could do not to panic and bolt from the courthouse, but he forced himself to exit normally, or as normally as he could. Now that he looked, there were cortex screens everywhere, and they all seemed to be displaying missing children pictures. He passed back through the checkpoint and was nearly out the front door when the hard-faced policewoman called after him.

"Sir. Sir!" It was more sharply spoken, and he halted, unsure if he should raise his hands and surrender—but then it struck him that she would hardly be calling him 'sir' if she were aiming a gun at him.

"You forgot to reclaim your checked weapon, sir," she said.

"Oh. Thank you," he managed to say, and somehow exchanged his claim chit for the pocket pistol. He was thankful for his surgeon's training—keeping his hand steady in a stressful situation was a skill he had developed on the job. He walked down the steps in front of the building, and headed for a public place, with plenty of people, to try to—what? _Be conspicuous_. _"Can't kidnap you or take you down easy in front of witnesses."_ Was Mal's advice even relevant? How much more conspicuous could he be than to have his face plastered all over the cortex? Maybe kidnappers wouldn't come after him in a crowded public place, but the police wouldn't hesitate to arrest him for child abduction, if they had a warrant. _Be inconspicuous_. But lurking just made him feel that someone must be lurking behind him. He didn't know what the 地狱 dìyù to do, so after wandering around for a while, he headed back to Pedro Docks, and Serenity.

. . .

Having secured the transport contract for the custom-made scientific equipment and arranged for the crates to be delivered to Pedro Docks, Ip and River were walking along the busy streets of New Dunsmuir towards the university when River's stomach gave a loud rumble.

"Would you like 饮茶 yǐnchá?" Ip asked.

"Yes, please!" River responded, and Ip took her arm and guided her into a nearby restaurant.

They were soon settled into a booth and provided with a pot of jasmine-scented green tea. Ip poured River a cup and she tapped her bent index finger on the table in the traditional gesture of thanks.

The dimsum restaurant was a cheerful, busy place, and soon the little dishes of 潮州 粉 果 Cháozhōu fěn guǒ, 包子 bāozi, 凤爪 fèngzhǎo, 糯米鸡 nuòmǐjī, 腐皮卷 fǔ pí juǎn, and 芋角 yùjiǎo began stacking up on their table, as they raided the passing steamcarts of their delicious treats. They finished off with a 豆腐花 dòufuhuā with sweet jasmine syrup that Ip swore reminded him of his mother's, and leaned back in the booth, replete and contented.

For the first time, the table tent display screen (which had been advertising everything from fruity oaty bars—an absurdity in a restaurant serving much tastier fare—to clothing from Devine Boutiques) attracted more than their peripheral attention. "WANTED" read the label, and pictures of the 'Verse's Most Wanted cycled across the little screen. Dangerous criminals—violent armed robbers, serial rapists, and mass murderers…except they weren't. The 'Verse's Most Wanted seemed to be mainly smugglers and thieves, tariff evaders, jail breakers and fugitives. River recognized one of them: Saffron the liar, the Captain's false bride. She was wanted for jailbreak and assault on a prison guard. So apparently Saffron had flown the coop and was now free as a bird, somewhere in the 'Verse. River doubted that Saffron had stayed on Bellerophon once she was sprung from Pegasus Prison, and she wondered where the manipulative liar might turn up next.

"Wouldn't want to meet someone like _that_ in a dark alley," Ip commented, as a particularly scruffy and dangerous-looking man was shown on the screen.

River looked. The man vaguely resembled Jayne. "Cody Cobb. Wanted for tax evasion," read the label. "Right," she replied, "Wouldn't want to meet _him_ in an alley. He might try to avoid paying us income tax."

"Oh." Ip looked a little foolish as he read what the man was wanted for. "This is a bit silly, isn't it? I wonder why he's on the Most Wanted list? I guess he must have evaded a _lot_ of income tax."

The table tent cycled past the Most Wanted list, then moved on to display pictures of missing children. Ip was momentarily distracted as he flagged down a waiter and paid the bill for their meal. River watched as the procession of missing children moved across the screen until she found herself gazing at Simon's face. "Last seen with Dr Simon Tam," the banner read, but she wasn't paying attention to the words_._ They hadn't caught him on a good day—must have been post-call, judging by the circles under his eyes. He looked different now. Happier. Healthier. Not quite so tense. And he smiled more. The picture changed, and she found herself studying her own face. They _really_ hadn't caught her on a good day—but then, at the Academy, none of the days had been good.

She didn't look like that now. For one thing, she'd taken to combing her hair regularly ever since Ip had come aboard. A second picture joined the first, then took its place. She cocked her head and studied the new picture with a scientific eye. Something about it was not right. "Age progression," read the caption. They'd missed the mark. Age-Progression-River looked like an Osirian debutante, with her hair done stylishly. She wore the latest fashions, and way too much make-up. River turned her head sideways, to see if Age-Progression-River resembled her any more closely from another angle.

Ip's attention was attracted by River's odd head movements. "River, what's up?" he asked, then followed her eyes to the table tent, just as the picture changed back to seventeen-year-old River Tam, unkempt and fey, captured in her last days at the Academy. The light in the capture seemed to pulsate. River sat transfixed, her head cocked at an angle. Ip transferred his gaze from girl to capture and back again: the capture, where a wild-eyed, crazy-haired, younger River Tam stared back at him from the screen, to the opposite side of the booth where River herself sat, unnaturally still and with her gaze fixed on the screen.

"Miranda," whispered River.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

我可以帮你吗 wǒ kěyǐ bāng nǐ ma [may I help you]

该死 的 gāisǐde [damned]

狗屎 gǒushǐ [crap]

他妈的 tāmādē [f-ing]

地狱之火 dìyù zhī huǒ [hellfire]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

饮茶 yǐnchá [to have tea and dimsum lunch]

潮州 粉 果 Cháozhōu fěn guǒ [chiu-chau fan guo, Chiu-chao style dumplings]

包子 bāozi [steamed stuffed buns]

凤爪 fèngzhǎo [Phoenix claws, a.k.a. chicken feet (cuisine)]

糯米鸡 nuòmǐjī [lo mai gai, lotus leaf rice]

腐皮卷 fǔ pí juǎn [fu pei guen, tofu skin roll]

芋角 yùjiǎo [wu gok, taro dumplings]

豆腐花 dòufuhuā [silky tofu dessert]

* * *

_A/N: Shout-out to BrucePluto (aka zzetta13) and his story "MIA" (see Fireflyfans dot net) for graciously allowing his character Cody Cobb to make a cameo appearance in this story...on the Most Wanted List! (Turnabout's fair play: BP/ZZ appropriated my character Janice (from One Man's Trash) in another one of his fics, to my great amusement.)_

_And also...uh-oh! The serious Dropping of the Other Shoe is starting...don't forget to review._


	20. Chapter 20

Two by Two by Two, Part 8a

Things begin to go awry…

This chapter rated T, for language.

* * *

Buck gazed dumbstruck at the flat facets of the rock crystal in Mal's hand. A really rich timonium ore containing a few parts per million could go for upwards of one hundred platinum per metric ton, in the raw, depending on the quality. The price increased as the refining process concentrated the elemental mineral. The crystalline form of the mineral was even more valuable than the most highly refined ore. Of course, he'd never held a timonium crystal in his hand before—he'd only seen them on the Cortex, or in a museum display case. He reached out to touch the crystal, and as his fingertips made the initial contact with it, he felt that unmistakable (and legendary) microsecond of electrical conduction that gave timonium its nickname, "electric garnet."

He nearly dropped the crystal, and his startled exclamation invoked every deity he could think of on such short notice. "耶稣 我的天 圣佛 Yēsū wǒ de tiān shèng Fó Vishnu 大地女神 dìqiú nǚshén Alhamdulillah ar-Rahman!" he exclaimed, directing a look of awe at Mal.

"No one's ever called me that before," Mal said drily.

"You have got a pair, that's for damn sure. Go in right under Blue Sun's nose and beard the lion." Buck mulled it over in his mind. It was unbelievable. He knew what kind of things Mal was capable of, had seen 'em in the past. It was why he'd called on him to get involved in the Blue Sun operation in the first place. But making off with a boatload of crystalline timonium—pure enough that its superconducting qualities were evident at the touch of a finger—that had to take the cake.

"I can't deal with these, Mal. But I got a contact that can." He scribbled some Chinese characters on an electronic card and handed it to Mal. "Commit that to memory," he advised, "and destroy the card."

. . .

"Miranda?" Ip asked River.

"Miranda—ask _her_," River responded with a fey smile, as she teetered at the edge.

Ip took River by the arm and propelled her out of the restaurant.

"I thought Simon said your warrants were rescinded!" Ip hissed in her ear. "I thought you weren't a fugitive anymore!"

"I'm not," River answered sharply. "I checked."

"You _checked_?" Ip echoed.

_Is there an echo in here?_ River thought, but refrained from saying. She kept her eye-roll to herself as well. Sometimes Ip was just as maddening as Simon. "Yes. There is no active warrant for Simon or me. I looked in the Federal warrant database."

"You can access the Federal warrant database—?" Ip began, then realized that he'd actually seen River do it. She'd hacked into Federal law enforcement systems when they were building a case in support of the Captain when he'd been arrested on false slave-trafficking charges on Persephone. And then she'd done it _again_ on Beylix when she investigated the source of the flag on the Captain's credit account.

"Someone still wants to find us." River was steadied by Ip's reaction. Not because he was calm—he most certainly wasn't—but because he refused to let her wander down the fey path, and kept asking very practical, if anxiety-heightened, questions.

"The Feds? Or someone else? River," Ip said seriously, "listen, I'm not going to get mad—you can tell me the truth. But I think I have a right to know if I'm walking the streets of Beaumonde in broad daylight with a wanted criminal."

"I'm not wanted," River answered definitively, then reconsidered as the fey path beckoned. _Up a crazy River by the old mill run, a crazy, crazy River in the noonday sun…_she was losing the thread_…blue skies up above, everyone's in love…_"I'm _not wanted?"_ she asked Ip, in a distressed voice, her eyes filling with tears as she gazed at him.

"No, no, River, I'm asking you a very practical question." Ip turned to face her, holding her elbows with both his hands. "Are we going to be set upon by officers of the law, ready to arrest you for a fugitive and me for abetting you?"

"What kind of question is that?" River shot back. "Do you think I can predict the future?"

"River, I—"

"But the answer is no. Officers of the law may only act upon a warrant, and there is no active warrant for Simon or me."

"You're sure?"

River opened her mouth, ready to lecture him about the impossibility of absolute certainty, ready to quote Heisenberg and give him a more accurate estimate of the probability of the predicted outcome, when he continued, "But what about that missing children picture on the tabletop—?"

"_Someone_ still wants to find Simon and me," River said. "Someone not the Feds."

Ip nodded, taking it in. "Now what did you mean about Miranda?"

. . .

"I can't believe that obnoxious pig said that to you," Mal said to Zoe, brushing the dust off the sleeves of his coat as they walked back to Serenity from Holden's office.

"Didn't surprise me, sir," Zoe replied. "It's the first thing that comes outta the mouth of a certain kind of man, they see a pregnant woman without a wedding ring on."

"He had no reason to say that kinda thing," Mal insisted. "Foul-mouthed 狗屎的 他妈的 狗娘养的 gǒushǐde tāmādē gǒuniángyǎngde—"

"Foul-mouthed?" Zoe said wryly. Mal shut his mouth abruptly. "I expected it. Holden told him he couldn't throw me in the dirt, on account of me bein' pregnant an' all, so he had to throw the dirt on some other way."

"I still can't believe it. Just boggles the mind. What kinda 青蛙的 乱伦 王八蛋 qīngwā de luànlún wángbādàn treats a pregnant woman that way?" He realized he was swearing again, and shut his mouth.

"Well, the words didn't hurt me none, sir," Zoe said. "What about you?"

"What about me what?"

"He just talked at me. You, he threw into the dirt. You ain't hurt or nothin'?"

Mal gave Zoe a glare, realized she was tweaking him, and answered, "Hell no, Zoe. It's just a show. Buck don't want to seem to be favoring us, and I'm just playin' along." He subconsciously rubbed the spots on his hip and his left elbow as he spoke; there were gonna be bruises there come morning. "So why don't you?"

"Why don't I what?"

"Wear a ring. I seem to recall Wash always wore a wedding ring."

"He did," Zoe confirmed. "Mine—well, didn't want nothin' interfering with my draw."

_Coulda worn it on your left hand_, Mal thought, but didn't say.

"So I decided to wear it in my heart," Zoe continued. She tugged on the leather necklace she regularly wore, had worn for years, almost as long as Mal had known her. She pulled up a portion that was always concealed beneath her clothing, revealing a sparkling golden circle looped through the leather. Her wedding ring. "Still do. He'll always be next to my heart."

Mal couldn't speak. Zoe carefully tucked the ring back beneath her body armor. They walked in silence, through the streets of New Dunsmuir, headed for Pedro Docks.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

耶稣 我的天 圣佛 Yēsū wǒ de tiān shèng Fó [Jesus god in heaven holy Buddha]

大地女神 dìqiú nǚshén [Mother Earth Goddess]

狗屎的 他妈的 狗娘养的 gǒushǐde tāmādē gǒuniángyǎngde [dog shitty damn son-of-a-bitch]

青蛙的 乱伦 王八蛋 qīngwā de luànlún wángbādàn [frog-fornicating son of a bitch]

* * *

_A/N: Reviews are shiny._


	21. Chapter 21

Two by Two by Two, Part 8b

The gǒushǐ hits the fan…

This chapter rated T.

* * *

It was a bright, sunshiny day, and the campus of Dunsmuir University was bustling with activity, with students and professors moving across the quad on their way to lectures. Some were taking advantage of the fine weather to study outdoors under the shade of the large Paulownia trees, but Ip couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that had settled on him since the restaurant incident. Why did he feel like they were being followed?

He was anxious to conclude their business and return to Serenity. He greeted Professor Guzman, an acquaintance who had been a post-doc while he was still a grad student at Harcliffe University on Bernadette, and introduced River as his research assistant. While River settled in and read scientific journals at Professor Guzman's office in the Geology building, Ip discussed the experiment with the professor. Ip knew that River was also listening, which was just what he wanted, because he intended for her to conduct much of the experiment herself, under his supervision of course. Professor Guzman was prosy—Ip remembered well how tedious the grad students' journal club had been whenever she gave the presentations—but her research plan was solid, and he was glad for the income the work would provide, as well as the chance to co-author a paper that would, with Guzman's help, almost certainly be published. He concluded his arrangements with her, trying to disguise how anxious he was to get out of there. At last, having arranged for the crate—it was not a large one, but it was too heavy to hand-carry—to be sent to the docks, he and River left the professor's office. Ip was about to turn left down the central hall towards the main staircase to the front entrance when River suddenly—and with shocking force—pulled him to the right and into a low side corridor that led to the labs.

_Ssshh! _ He wasn't sure exactly how she silenced him, since she didn't appear to have made a sound. One moment they were racing down the corridor, with River tugging him along by the hand and glancing nervously over her shoulder, and the next moment, she had disappeared. He had looked away only for a second, following her gaze down the corridor behind them, and when he looked back she was nowhere that he could see.

_Don't look down, don't look down._ Why that thought popped into his head, he couldn't say, but of course he looked down. What he saw when he looked down was…the floor. It was entirely unremarkable, so he looked back up, to see two men in unremarkable black suits striding purposefully along the corridor. They must have been engaged in lab experiments, for they both wore protective blue gloves on their hands. "Gentlemen," Ip said, nodding a greeting as they passed. The pair nodded shortly, without any warmth, and continued down the hallway as if on a mission. That was when it struck Ip that their appearance was in fact odd. Who wore a business suit while conducting lab experiments? At the very least, a typical scientist would throw on a lab coat to protect their good clothes, and most scientists didn't dress up in the first place. And the pair did not seem to belong in this corridor, for instead of turning into one of the labs, they stopped outside first one door, then another, as they came to them, pausing at each one and seeming to consider whether or not this was the right lab to enter.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask them if they needed help finding their way, when the thought struck him, _Let them figure it out for themselves. _He wasn't much interested in helping these unsympathetic strangers. He was much more interested in finding River and getting back to Serenity. Something held him back from calling out River's name while the strangers were still in the corridor. He waited until they had reached the end of it and passed through the door to the staircase.

"River?" he ventured cautiously, looking both ways along the corridor. She was nowhere to be seen. "Riv—gah!" he exclaimed as she suddenly dropped down from the ceiling, where, now that he looked up, he could see that she must have been bracing herself up there amongst the exposed piping. She must be stronger than she looked, and a talented gymnast to boot, to hold a position like that for more than a few seconds. "What was that all about?" he asked, quietly.

"Hens do _not_ laugh and I don't like Russian!" River replied. Ip wanted to ask what in the worlds she meant, but he didn't have time. She grabbed his hand and tugged him along, not to the stairs at the end of corridor where the suits had gone, not back to the main hall either, but into a room containing lockers, with a couple of padded benches affixed to the floor. He recognized it as a kind of changing room and lounge, where people who were monitoring all-night experiments could stop to catch a nap.

He was about to ask what they were doing there when he heard, or rather felt, _Ssshh!_ again. River froze in her tracks, so he did, too, almost not daring to breathe. Maybe paranoia was infectious, he thought, feeling more and more like a character in a pulp spy novel.

"Not infectious," River answered, though he didn't believe he had voiced that thought aloud. "Paranoia is a symptom, not a disease. The causality is—"

"River," Ip interrupted, and his voice was about an octave higher than usual. "What are we _doing?_ What is going on?"

"Hens _cackle._ She eats her children! 提取 的计划 Tíqǔ de jìhuà," she muttered, as she began pulling labcoats and scrubs off the hooks in the room. She knotted the sleeves and legs together, and as he watched open-mouthed, she tied one end of the makeshift rope to the leg of one of the benches. Giving the clothes-rope a sharp tug to test its strength, she opened the frosted window of the room, tossed the rope out, then gestured with her eyes, indicating unambiguously that he was to climb out the window and down the rope. He looked through the opening. It opened into a narrow shaft of an alley that cut most of the way through the massive geology building. The distant end of the alley opened onto Broadway Boulevard, the busiest street around the campus of Dunsmuir University. _"Go somewhere safe,"_ the Captain's voice echoed in his head, _"a public place. Can't kidnap you or take you down easy in front of witnesses." _Ip understood that the busy street represented safety, but he couldn't understand the anxiety, the almost palpable fear, that was building in him. _Gotta reach the street._ Without questioning why he was doing so, Ip swung himself over the sill and climbed backwards down the wall of the building, three floors down, hanging onto the rope. No sooner had he reached the alley below than River descended, dropping the last ten feet and landing with the grace of a dancer—a fighter—a dancer.

A fighter, he decided, observing that her body was tensed to spring, and noting with alarm that she had a knife in her hand. Following her moves, imitating them without knowing exactly why he was doing so, Ip made his way down the dim alleyway in River's wake. Despite the fact that it was still broad daylight, the alley was in shadow, and now Ip began to feel that he had stepped onto the set of a B-grade film noir. Everything had an unreal quality, as if it were a dream.

_Not a dream,_ River said. _Nightmare. Sshh! Don't speak!_

Suddenly she shoved him hard against the side of a dumpster. _Don't like Russian, don't like Russian, don't like Russian_, she repeated, more and more frantically. _Two by two, Hands of Blue, two by two…._ Her voice rose in pitch, even as the volume diminished to a whisper. Ip became aware of the voices of some men on the other side of the dumpster, between him and River and the distant safety of the open street.

"…_with a man, late twenties, tall, Asian features_," one of the voices was saying.

"_Neutralize him," _the other replied. _"I'll speak the safeword."_

_Not listening! Not listening! Not listening… _River's panic was palpable.

The first man stepped past the dumpster. He was dressed in a neutral black suit, like the other pair Ip had seen in the corridor, with blue gloves on his hands. He held a long rod in his hand—Ip had no idea what it was, but his gut wrenched with the instinctive knowledge that it was something terrible. He looked into the face of his assassin.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

提取 的计划 Tíqǔ de jìhuà [Extraction plan]

* * *

_A/N: That's some cliffhanger, isn't it? I'll post the next chapter soon. Meanwhile, would appreciate your comments._


	22. Chapter 22

Two by Two by Two, Part 8c

The gǒushǐ hits the fan…

This chapter rated T for strong language and violence.

* * *

Mal remembered the day Zoe married Wash. It was a brief, simple ceremony at a justice of the peace office on a Rim moon. They'd gone there after making a drop. Zoe had removed her gunbelt for the occasion but made no other concessions. It was before Jayne joined the crew, and Kaylee had yet to replace Bester as mechanic. Bester was off chasing girls, so Mal and the clerk had been the only witnesses to the ceremony. What mixed feelings he'd had that day, as his best friend formalized her relationship with another man. The three of them had gone to a bar afterwards to celebrate, but after a few rounds, Zoe and Wash had felt the need to celebrate their marriage privately and Mal was left drinking alone. He'd probably put a damper on the whole occasion with his dark mood.

Wasn't gonna be that way, for him. He wanted his whole family there, his crew, when he married. He wanted Zoe standing by his side, as his best man—woman, he corrected. Wanted to feel her presence, her support, her approval, as he said his vows to the woman he loved and placed the ring on her finger.

"I'm gonna wear mine on the left hand," Mal blurted, out of the blue.

"Your what?" Zoe queried.

"Wedding ring," Mal said.

"You gettin' married soon, sir?" Zoe asked archly.

_牛屎__Niú shǐ__._ What was he thinking? He heaved a sigh. "Zoe, I know we don't talk personal, but…"

_What, sir?_ she asked with her look.

"I need your advice, as a, you know, I figure you'd have a better idea, you're a woman-person, after all, and maybe you can tell me, you understand, you know, relationships and all, and I don't—"

"You have anything like a point, sir?"

"I had a fight with Inara."

"I'm aware, sir." The whole gorram ship was aware. Have to be dead not to be aware, and Zoe for one was convinced that Wash had probably heard it, too, it was such a knock-down drag-out crockery-hurling shouting match.

"Thing was, it was over nothin'."

"Didn't sound like nothin'."

"Over nothin' I could figure out, anyhow. I went to see her, not expecting nothin' in particular, and she starts hittin' me, and screaming, and all what-all, and none of it made no sense to me."

"You sure you didn't just screw up again, sir?"

"I probably did, Zoe. But I got no clue. I thought everything was goin' well—hell, you remember, I was even _whistling_ for 天的 tiān de sake—and next thing she's goin' at it hammer and tongs, and not for any reason I can figure out why."

"You sure you didn't call her 'whore'?"

"Don't know that word no more," Mal said primly. "I'm sure."

"Did you apologize?"

"Yeah, I did. Didn't have no idea what for, but I told her I was sorry for it, whatever I done."

"And she—?"

"And she called me a two-timing 妓女的儿子 jìnǚ de érzi and started throwin' things at me." He shook his head. "I just don't understand."

"Seems pretty clear to me. She thinks you're two-timing her."

"I get that, Zoe. I just don't get where she coulda got that idea."

"Well, clearly she don't know you well as I do, sir, if she really thinks that. But the real question is, what set her off?"

"That's where I'm stumped, Zoe. You seen me doin' anything stupid recently?" Zoe resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and just gave him a look. He gave her a thin, wan smile. "Stupider than usual, I mean."

"Not as I've seen. Musta been something you said to her privately."

He racked his brain. "Only real serious conversation we had recently was, she came to me on the bridge and asked about our next landfall. She wanted to set up appointments—"

"She ain't seein' clients?" Zoe exclaimed, indignantly.

"She assured me these appointments are not clients, Zoe, but she won't tell me what they are. It's like a test. Y'know—do I trust her? Last time she asked me the same thing, I blew up, called her bad names, she slapped me, and we didn't speak to each other for weeks. This time I thought I passed the test. I trusted her. But I guess she don't trust me."

They walked along for a bit, deep in thought, then Zoe spoke. "I'm thinking, Mal, this has more to do with Inara's profession than you're willing to admit. How long has it been since she worked?"

"I don't know exactly, Zoe—actually, I try not to think on it."

"Well, that there's the problem."

"I don't want to blame her, it's best when I don't think on it."

"You can't ignore it, sir. It won't go away. She's a professional woman, well-respected in her line of work, got a good business operation goin'—'til recently anyway—and now she's supposed to give it all up, to be with you. Would make me a mite tetchy, were I in her shoes."

"I never asked her to give up her business—"

"I'm sure you didn't. But you expect it."

He huffed and fumed a little. "Alright. Yeah. I do expect it. What else am I gonna do? I can't pretend to be happy if she wants to run off and bed some other man, even if she gets paid handsomely for it, even if she has 'talents' and 'skills'—"

He was getting pretty worked up. Zoe interrupted. "Wash wasn't too happy about my choice of profession, either, Mal."

"That is completely different! It's not like you were betraying him by doing your job."

"No, see. It's not all that different. There was no way in 地狱 dìyù I was gonna give up my job just to please a man, even a man I loved as much as him. If he couldn't love me for who I was, up to and including the kind of work I did, well, maybe I didn't want to be with him."

"You got married."

"Yes, sir, I did. That was after Wash and I talked it out. He _felt_ like I was betraying him—too stubborn to consider his wishes and needs, putting my job first. I knew if I gave up my job to try to become the woman he thought he wanted—well, then I was betraying myself."

Mal said nothing, but she could tell he was taking it all in.

"So we compromised. I acknowledged that it was his love for me that was making him act like such a 流氓 liúmáng, and I agreed to wear body armor whenever I went out on a job."

Mal remembered. Zoe had suddenly insisted on the body armor, for every meet, every drop. So it was a compromise? Zoe being careful, and Wash not fussing overmuch that she might be killed on the job. But how could he possibly compromise with respect to Inara's job? She was either faithful to him or she was not. And that meant she either took clients or she didn't. Wouldn't help if she agreed to take only half the clients. He turned to Zoe. "What kind of compromise—?" he began, when suddenly shots rang out.

He and Zoe dove for cover. Bullets pinged off the metal bin he crouched behind, and lodged in the wooden crate behind him, just over his head. His ears had already given him an approximate location for the shooter, and he returned fire, quickly crawling to better cover as a hail of bullets from several sources converged on his previous location. He risked a quick glance round the edge of the building. The shooter, or one of them, rather, knelt behind some cement steps that led up to someone's front porch. The man was aiming his rifle at the spot where Zoe lay—_Zoe lay!—_behind a wooden crate. His side was exposed to Mal's new position. Mal took aim without delay and dropped him. As the man fell, three other people—two men, one woman—shifted from their covers and began a retreat. Mal fired most of the rest of his clip, winging one of the men. All three got away as fast as they could get.

He ran over to Zoe. She lay awkwardly on the ground, with her knee twisted at a strange angle. That looked bad. She had some blood on her forehead, but it looked to be a gash, not a bullet hole. Good. But she was unconscious, and that was bad. He quickly checked her over, but he couldn't see an entry wound. Good. She was breathing and her pulse was strong. More good. Her clothing was shredded over the center of her chest. Bullet or splinter, probably knocked her down. Bad. But the body armor beneath was intact. Damn good. He tried to check on the baby, but he didn't have any idea how to do so—his war experience hadn't taught him a thing about being a field medic to a fetus. He reached into his coat pocket and grabbed a packet of Ready-Clot gauze—a standard field dressing he'd learned to carry _always_ during the war—ripped it open and placed it on Zoe's forehead. Quickly he tore a strip off his t-shirt and wound it around the gash on her head, tying it off with an efficient knot. It was clear Zoe wasn't gonna make it anywhere under her own power. After checking cautiously first for more shooters, Mal hoisted Zoe up into a carry hold, and made his way back towards Serenity, as quickly and carefully as he could. He didn't notice that Buck Holden's electronic card had dropped out of his pocket onto the ground.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

牛屎 Niú shǐ [Shit]

天的 tiān de [heavens]

妓女的儿子 jìnǚ de érzi[son of a whore]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

流氓 liúmáng [jerk]

* * *

_A/N: So I didn't resolve the cliffhanger in the last chapter. Sorry. We'll get back there in the next chapter. Lots more action coming._


	23. Chapter 23

Two by Two by Two, Part 9a

_Violence in a dim alley._

_Author Note: I'd like to bring to mind the "safeword" that Simon was taught as a means of making River fall asleep after triggering. It's "Это курам на смех (Eto kuram na smekh)." Literally, it means, "That's for chickens to laugh at" or "That is to make hens laugh," and it's a Russian idiom for "That's ridiculous."_

This chapter is rated T for violence.

* * *

The first man stepped past the dumpster into the dim light of the narrow alley.

"_Not listening! Not listening! Not…"_

River's panic was palpable beside him, and his gut wrenched with instinctive knowledge: the rod that the man held in his outstretched blue-gloved hand was some kind of terrible weapon. Ip lifted his eyes and looked into the face of his assassin.

And he was astonished to find that he recognized the man. Somehow, he found his voice. "Is that you, Bill?"

. . .

_Three Years Previously_

That day, when Ip met up with Hari at the Blue Sun cafeteria, Hari was accompanied by another young-ish man. "Ip, I want you to meet Bill. Bill, this is Ip."

"Ip Neumann," Ip said, shaking hands. "I work in the Terraforming Division."

"Bill Borjigin," the other replied with a smile. Since he didn't give his division, Ip immediately assumed that he worked with Hari in the Reaver Studies Department, where all the research was classified. Or perhaps he worked in some other hush-hush research department. Ip's security clearance was low-level, and all he knew for sure was that there existed security levels he didn't have the clearance to know about.

One great thing about working for a large corporation whose many subdivisions included the largest food purveyor in the 'Verse was that the cafeteria food was tasty, there was a tremendous selection, and the prices, subsidized by the corporation, were extremely cheap. The cafeteria was very popular with the employees of Blue Sun Bernadette. Ip, Hari, and Bill went through the lines, then settled into a table near one of the virtual windows. Hari chose a Hawaiian waterfall scene from the window menu—it was one of his favorites, and Ip liked that one, too, because once in a while a bright red i'iwi bird fluttered through the ohi'a blossoms in the foreground. Ip was an avid birdwatcher, and even though he'd never seen a real i'iwi, he still felt a thrill—_there's one for the life list!—_every time he spotted it.

"Bill's new here," Hari told him.

"Where are you from?" Ip asked Bill.

"Londinium."

"You just move here, then?"

"Bill got recruited from…" Hari trailed off, looking at Bill.

Bill gave the slightest shrug. "I used to work for the government."

Ip understood the code-talk. It usually started with, "I work in the public sector," but Blue Sun was already beyond that, and Bill had skipped directly to the second level. The third level was "I work for the Department of Defense," and somewhere beyond that was "I work in Military Intelligence." Ip knew there were levels beyond that, but he'd never been admitted to them. So Bill was some kind of intelligence officer who'd been recruited to work in one of Blue Sun's discreet divisions. Well, there were all sorts of intelligence work to be done in private business—Ip had heard of corporate spies who tried to steal the company's secrets and sell them to the competition, for instance, and undoubtedly people had to be hired who could uncover the spies and deal with them. No doubt there were other uses 妈妈 青日Māma Qīng Rì had for a military intelligence officer or—judging by Bill's physical fitness (not typical amongst the desk-jockey scientists who dominated the Blue Sun Bernadette workforce)—a special forces operative. Ip didn't bother to speculate further, and he knew Hari and Bill would never tell, anyway.

As lunch wound down, Hari spoke up. "Ip, Bill's got a problem, and I figured, with your being a native of this wild frontier you would know how to help him." Hari was from Ariel, and it was a running joke between them that Hari had given up the trappings of civilized life on Ariel to make the trek to the wilds of Bernadette—which was every bit as urbanized as Ariel, and had been terraformed for as long as Osiris.

"What's the problem?" Ip asked.

"Well, I—" Bill began awkwardly.

"The fact is," Hari interrupted, "妈妈 青日Māma Qīng Rì recruited him, but couldn't be bothered to help him find an apartment. He had to ask Tourist Services at the spaceport to book him a bed and breakfast, and he doesn't have a clue where to look for a more permanent place. I recommended my own apartment complex, of course, but it turns out there's a three-year waiting list for openings, and I haven't thought about housing in years, and honestly, I don't have any idea where—"

"I get it," Ip smiled. "You want me to recommend Bill to my Aunt Waltraud." Ip's aunt was a bit of a real estate mogul. She managed a collection of properties, some of them quite upscale, but even the least of them was a very nice building in a good part of town. Bernadette was a very overcrowded world and the scarcity of decent housing was a perpetual issue. Newcomers to the world faced special challenges, as much of the housing was reserved for native-born Bernadettiens. Knowing his relationship with Waltraud Neumann, people were always buttonholing him for assistance with housing. "No problem." Ip wrote down the wave address of his aunt's business and handed it to Bill. "I'll wave my aunt and let her know to expect your wave."

. . .

"Ip?" Bill hesitated.

That was all it took. "Это кур— (Eto kur—)" began Bill's partner, but River had already made her move. She launched herself with a flying leap and accurately kicked the second Blue Hand in the head. Ip heard the man's neck snap with a sickening crunch and he dropped to the ground with a high cervical fracture, dying…dead as a rabbit.

"I—" Bill was still holding the awful cylinder.

"Put that away, Bill." Ip had no idea where he was getting the wherewithal to say such a thing to a man holding a lethal weapon.

"Ip," said Bill again, flicking glances toward his dead partner and River Tam. Ip didn't dare break eye contact with Bill, although he could hear that River was in distress. "Get out. Get away." Bill lowered the rod, but didn't put it away.

Ip was startled by the hardness in Bill's voice. This was not the Bill he used to know. The Bill who, though secretive, was a friendly man. "Bill—" Ip began.

"Trust me, you don't want to be found here. Go."

"What about—?" Ip's eye strayed to the dead man.

"That's my problem," Bill said. "I'll deal with it. Now get out. While you can."

Ip moved over to River, who was quaking like a bowl of jelly and making incoherent quivery sounds. He put his arm around her and helped her up.

"You can't take her." Bill's voice was harsh, and his face, hard and affectless.

"She's my friend!" Ip exclaimed.

Ip watched as Bill's affect changed, from the hardened indifferent expression of a tool—a truly frightening look—to a man's face with human emotion. Conflicted emotion. "Ip. I can't—" Bill began in a quiet, intense voice.

"I can't leave her here," Ip stated, again wondering where he had come up with the gumption to say such a thing.

Bill frowned, seemed to reach a decision. "I'll deal with it," he said, to himself more than to Ip. His look hardened again. "Get out. Both of you. Get as far away as you can. They'll be looking for you, as soon as they find out what happened here."

"How soon?" Ip's voice was barely more than a harsh whisper.

"I can stall them two hours. Maybe three. Get out. Get away."

Ip didn't wait to be told again. He picked up River and walked straight out of the alley to the sunshine of Broadway Boulevard. There he turned to say "Goodbye, Bill," but the Bill he had known was already gone.

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

妈妈 青日Māma Qīng Rì [Mother Blue Sun]

Это кур— Eto kur— [That is for hens— (Russian)]

* * *

_A/N: Apologies for delays in resolving the cliffhanger. I'm away from home, and internet access here is very spotty. I'll update as I get the chance._


	24. Chapter 24

Two by Two by Two, Part 9b

_The __gǒushǐ_ _keeps on hitting…_

This chapter is rated T for strong language.

_Long chapter…but it doesn't work to break it up._

* * *

"Simon!" Mal called as he staggered up the ramp. "Simon! Where the hell are you, Doc?"

"Cap'n!" Kaylee gasped as she moved toward the cargo bay ramp and saw Mal carrying Zoe draped over his shoulder. "What happened to Zoe?"

"Could use some help here, Kaylee," Mal said. He wouldn't ever admit it, but carrying Zoe at the double all the way from that backstreet near Holden's place had tested his limits of strength and endurance. "Where the hell's Jayne? Where's everybody else?"

"Jayne's still away." Kaylee helped Mal carry Zoe through the cargo bay. "Everybody else is in the infirmary."

Mal looked sharply at her. Something 不佳 bùjiā was going on.

"River and Ip got set upon by those Blue Hands guys. They barely got away—"

Mal felt a jolt of renewed energy as a fresh burst of adrenaline pumped through him. "Blue Hands? They gonna be here any minute?"

"They got away somehow, I don't know how. Ip said they weren't followed. Just got here a minute ago."

"Anybody hurt?" Mal asked, as they rounded the corner of the infirmary.

The answer to that question was in front of him. River was crouching in the corner of the floor of the infirmary, crying and fending off the others with her arms and kicking out with her feet. "Get back and watch the door," Mal told Kaylee shortly. "Call Jayne, tell him to get his 屁股 pìgu back here 马上 mǎshàng." He reached the infirmary door.

"妹妹 Mèimei, try to calm yourself, please," Inara spoke soothingly.

"…Blue…Hands of Blue…two by two, two times two, powers of two, too many hands!" River sobbed.

Both Ip and Simon tried to approach her, while Inara kept trying to soothe her with words. Simon held a hypo gun—filled with sedative, Mal didn't doubt.

Inara's attention was suddenly caught by the sight of Mal, carrying Zoe through the infirmary door. 亲爱的佛啊 Qīn'àide Fó ā, Zoe was hurt. Was she even conscious? Mal settled Zoe on the infirmary exam bed, where she lay down with a groan, her eyes closed, a makeshift bandage tied around her head. Mal immediately slumped into the chair by the bedside. There was a smear of blood on the sleeve of his coat. Was he hurt, too? He didn't seem to be injured. He was obviously exhausted with the effort of carrying Zoe. Poor Mal. 天啊 Tiān ā, what had she done, what had she done to him! Mal closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths. How could she have done it! He opened his eyes, got his second wind, and pulled himself up.

His first move was to take Zoe's hand. "Zoe, speak to me. Zoe. Doc!" he called. "Zoe needs your help!" Zoe's eyes fluttered open. She focused on Mal, and the two of them locked eyes and exchanged one of their disconcertingly long, deep, and intimate looks. Inara saw it and fumed.

"Coming, Captain. River needs my help too," Simon returned, sparing a quick glance over his shoulder at Zoe. River, like a cornered animal, saw her chance, and made a break away from Ip and Simon, avoiding Simon's needle. A tray of medical equipment crashed to the floor.

Inara was torn, wanting to help someone. But who most needed help? River? Zoe? Simon? Mal? Simon and Ip were dealing with River, Mal seemed to have recovered from his exhaustion, and the medical equipment could wait. She came to Zoe's side, looking for injuries. Zoe was groaning, but still conscious. Inara couldn't see any other injury besides the obvious head wound.

"What happened?" Simon called, without looking this time. He'd missed his chance to sedate River, and he and Ip circled slowly, re-positioning themselves and trying to close in again.

"Someone shot her!" Mal raged. "Shot Zoe! Shot a pregnant woman! What kind of immoral 非人 fēirén shoots a pregnant woman? Inhuman, 道德沦丧 dàodélúnsàng, 无用 wúyòng, 乱伦的 luànlúnde—"

"Is she bleeding?" Simon asked.

"Not that I can see," Inara answered, while Mal and Zoe spoke in unison, "No."

"Матрёшка Солнце Синее (Matreshka solitse sineye)…eats her children…blood on her hands!" River stared at her hands as she held them out in front of her. "Don't like chickens! Don't like hens! No mатрёшка (matreshka)!"

"River, they're gone, we're safe, we're safe here now, stay calm, River, it's okay," Ip repeated like a mantra.

"Tell me you weren't followed, Ip," Mal demanded of Ip.

"We weren't," Ip stated definitively, without taking his eyes off River.

"You sure?" Mal asked, fixing him with a look. It missed target, as Ip kept his eyes completely focused on River. "_Damn _sure?"

"The Blue Hands won't be coming for us right away," Ip stated with surprising force.

"And you know this how?"

Without removing his eyes from River, Ip gave a slight shrug. He didn't want to talk about Bill—didn't want to think about Bill, and Bill's partner with the broken neck, and River turning into a whimpering, quaking bowl of jelly. But the Captain's stare was boring into the back of his head, so he faced those horrors for a moment and said, "He said he could give me two hours. Maybe three." Somehow he was sure that Bill would keep his word, would do his best to give them a reasonable head start, but he knew that it wasn't entirely in Bill's hands. Hands of Blue. "Just know." It was all he could say just now.

Mal gave Ip a hard look, but the man was focused on River. Mal wasn't satisfied with Ip's reply, which raised as many questions as it answered, but he didn't have time to sit around pondering. "Where the 地狱 dìyù is Jayne already? We gotta load up Holden's cargo yesterday and get the hell off this rock before any of those 不道德 bùdàodé 王八蛋 wángbādàn catch up to us."

"Which 不道德 bùdàodé 王八蛋 wángbādàn do you mean?" Simon asked, not turning his head. "The Blue Hands or the ones that shot Zoe?"

"Both," Mal replied tersely, and began working with Inara to remove Zoe's vest.

Kaylee appeared at the infirmary door. "Cap'n—" she began.

"Not now, Kaylee—unless it's urgent," Mal replied without looking at her.

Kaylee spoke up. "Cap'n, while you and Zoe were—" she stopped and started again. "I went to install the navsat, and I found somebody already tried to sabotage Serenity. Despite the watch set by Mrs Li's son. I'm thinkin' probably before we even reached Pedro Docks. Back at the fruit market."

Mal shot a penetrating look at Kaylee. "What the h—" he began.

"Explosive device, nav and comm systems, just like before," Kaylee reported. "Couldn't install the navsat. Gotta defuse the detonator afore I can work up there."

"他妈的 Tāmādē!" Mal swore, acknowledging the report with a nod. He and Inara continued working to remove Zoe's body armor. All the while he kept up a steady stream of muttering, working himself up into an irrational state. "… can't believe, who would shoot a woman who's pregnant, Zoe's only chance to have Wash's baby. What kinda 乱伦的 疯子 luànlúnde fēngzi would shoot a pregnant widow, carrying her husband's last hope in the 'Verse? If Wash's child come to any harm I swear I'll—"

"What?" Inara interjected. "You swear you'll _what?_ What'll you do, Mal?"

Zoe interrupted Mal's rant at the same time. "They can't know that. How would they know I'm a widow?"

"What kind of 道德沦丧的 狗娘养的 dàodélúnsàngde gǒuniángyǎngde shoots at a pregnant woman?" Mal continued, not acknowledging their interjections. "Animals—not even animals would do this—"

"Chickens are animals! Don't like chickens! Don't like hens!" River ranted.

"They couldn't tell—" Inara began.

"She's five months pregnant!" Mal exclaimed. "It's perfectly obvious!"

"Zoe carries it well," Inara replied. "They don't know her; they might just think she's fat," she said reasonably.

"Fat?" Mal and Zoe exclaimed in unison, with identical expressions of indignation.

"Can't make the hens laugh. Can't make the hens…I _hate_ Матрёшка (Matreshka)!"

"River, calm down, easy," Ip said, edging closer to her.

Simon closed in and administered the shot. "Got it," he said, as River slumped down gently. He turned his attention immediately to Zoe. "What happened?"

Ip picked up River and placed her gently on the second infirmary bed.

"Took a chest shot," Zoe explained, as Simon began assessing her injuries. "Armor stopped it, but it knocked me down. Twisted my knee, something popped, hurts something fierce. Took a tumble and musta hit my head on the way down, knocked me out. Next I remember, Mal was carrying me back here."

Simon examined Zoe's bruised chest as he asked, "Are you having any trouble breathing? Does it hurt when you breathe?" Zoe answered both questions in the negative, and Simon placed his hands on either side of her ribcage, applying pressure. "Does it hurt when I do this?"

"Not especially—well, no more than it already does. Feels like I been kicked in the chest."

Simon nodded with relief. Despite being hit squarely on the sternum, Zoe didn't seem to have a cracked sternum or any cracked ribs. The body armor had done its job. He unwrapped the bandage from Zoe's head and began cleaning the gash on her forehead. "You won't be needing any stitches on this, just a weave. It's a pretty good knock; I expect you have a concussion. You'll have headaches, nausea—" He stopped speaking as Zoe vomited into a basin that Inara held, while Mal supported Zoe's shoulders and held her hair out of the way.

Simon pulled out the scanner and set it for Doppler tones to check the baby.

Mal continued the tale. "Four shooters. One was a woman. Ambush. Didn't see it coming."

"Didn't see it?" Inara remarked. "That's unusual."

The steady thunk thunk thunk of the baby's heartbeat sounded through the Doppler fetal monitor and they all let out a breath they hadn't realized they were holding. "The baby's heartbeat is strong," Simon reported. He reconfigured the scanner into imaging mode for the fetal exam.

"We were distracted," Mal returned, then admitted, "Well, I was distracting Zoe—all kinds of talk." He was kicking himself. He hadn't been paying attention, wasn't watching her back. And distracting Zoe, so she couldn't watch either. He met Zoe's eyes. _Sorry I wasn't watching_.

Zoe gazed back at him. _Not your fault, sir_.

_Yes, it was._

Watching the exchange of glances, Inara felt the jealous emotions rising in her throat again. Whatever were they talking about? Why couldn't _she_ have that with Mal? Why was it so hard to communicate with him?

Mal felt Inara's eyes on him and knew she was closely watching his silent interchange with Zoe. A guilty flush crept up his cheeks, though he tried to will it away. Zoe was injured because he distracted her attention with talk about Inara, nattering on about his relationship with Inara, his personal problems that he shoulda kept to himself. He looked up and across the exam table. "Inara—" he began, but Inara was suddenly busy, and wouldn't look at him, or reply.

"Any dead bodies?"

"What?" Mal and Zoe replied together, equally startled by Simon's question.

"Did you leave any dead bodies?" Simon inquired. "I mean, should we be expecting a visit from the police?" He placed the ultrasound probe on Zoe's bare abdomen and began to examine the baby.

"I dropped the 他妈的 混蛋 tāmādē húndàn who shot Zoe," Mal returned bluntly. "Don't know if I killed 'im, but I hope so. Any man as can shoot at a pregnant woman don't deserve to walk the world. Winged one of the others, but the three of them walked away. Don't want to stay parked on this rock any longer than we have to, to get loaded up, fixed to go." Mal was getting ramped up again. He looked toward the open door of the infirmary, and he completely missed Ip's shocked expression.

Ip didn't know what to make of the Captain's level of comfort with violence. He opened his mouth, intending to tell Simon and the Captain about the Blue Hand man that River had killed, but the words stuck in his throat. Bill had implied that he would hide or dispose of the body somehow. Ip felt bile rising in his throat, and swallowed convulsively.

"Kaylee!" Mal called through the infirmary door. "Where the hell is Jayne?" he asked yet again.

"Jayne's at a…whorehouse," Kaylee replied meekly from the doorway.

"Well, get him the hell back here. We need to load the cargo 马上 mǎshàng."

"He said he's coming."

"I bet he is," Mal retorted, disgustedly.

"I don't see any placental separation or hemorrhages," Simon reported. He focused his attention on the ultrasound screen. "The baby's moving. Amniotic fluid looks clear, but I'll do a full exam." He paused in his work while Zoe was sick again.

Simon ran through a mental checklist, verifying that all was well with the baby. Without a pause, he reconfigured the same scope for a spectral scan and examined Zoe's knee. It was clear what was wrong there. She must have caught the inside of her foot on the way down and she had a partial tear of the medial collateral ligament. Her anterior cruciate ligament and medial meniscus were also injured. She would need a surgical repair to knit the ends together, once the swelling went down. "Zoe, some ligaments are torn. You're going to need surgery on that knee. You'll be laid up for a day or two. After that, you can wear a knee brace, and I'll approve you for light activity—no fights. Presently, I'm concerned about your concussion. You'll need to lie still for observation for a day, perhaps two."

"Cap'n," Kaylee spoke up, with a nervous glance at Zoe, "We gotta defuse the detonator afore I can get up there and install the navsat. Gotta take care of that booby trap before we fly, or we're like to be caught in space with no navigation and no communication, like before."

"Gorrammit!" Mal exclaimed, leaping into action. "Get the tools, Kaylee. I need the fine EM toolkit, with the precision flux density tool."

"Mal!" Inara was alarmed. "You're going to defuse the bomb?"

"Ain't a bomb, Inara, it's just a detonator."

"And that's different how?"

"Bomb'll blow up the whole ship. Detonator'll just blow up the person working on it and anybody nearby."

Inara blanched. "Mal, you're _not_ going to do it."

"Well it sure as hell ain't gonna defuse itself, don't see who the hell else gonna do it."

"You could be killed!" she exclaimed.

"More likely it'll just blow off an arm or a leg. More like to get killed breakin' my neck when I fall off the ship unconscious from the blast." His tone was not melodramatic; his statement had a battlefield straightforwardness to it.

Inara gasped, but Mal was already on to his next task.

"Simon, we done with the emergency intervention here?"

"River's stabilized," Simon replied. "She needs watching. Zoe, you just need to lie still. I can't operate on the knee until the swelling goes down."

"Good," Mal said to Simon, not even acknowledging the two patients. He was in full wartime command mode by now, and everything he said came across as a succession of battle orders. "Need you and Ip to go to the warehouse, get Holden's cargo. Where the hell is Jayne when you need him?"

"Captain—" Ip began.

Mal addressed the two doctors, cutting off Ip's speech. "Now tell me one of you can drive the gorram mule."

"Yes, I can. What do you want us to—?"

"Simon, you got your piece?" Mal interrupted, meaning a gun. Simon produced his weapon from within an infirmary drawer. "Ip, take this." Mal reached under his duster and handed him his left-hand weapon. "Even got a left-handed grip, you'll like it." He ignored the look on Ip's face. "Simon, here's the chit, go to the coordinates listed on it, keycode is taps. Take the cargo hauler. Get moving." Mal ignored the fish-eyed stares from the two doctors. "You got exactly one hour to get this done, no more, 懂吗 dǒng ma?" He gave them a look that got both of them moving without further delay. "Soon as Jayne shows, I'ma send him along after you. Gorram good for nothin' never there when you need 'im…" He ceased grumbling as he caught Inara's eye. "Inara, you stay put, watch them as needs tending here."

Inara bristled at Mal giving her orders, but he was so completely in _I-don't-have-time-for-any-bullshit_ mode that no amount of bristling could reach him. He was already striding out the infirmary door.

"Kaylee, you got the tools? Come out an' spot me from the ground, mayhap break the fall if I get blown up."

. . .

.

.

.

glossary

妈妈 青日Māma Qīng Rì [Mother Blue Sun]

Это кур— Eto kur— [That is for hens— (Russian)]

不佳 bùjiā [not good]

屁股 pìgu [butt]

马上 mǎshàng [now]

妹妹 Mèimei [little sister]

亲爱的佛啊 Qīn'àide Fó ā [Oh dear Buddha]

天啊 Tiān ā [Oh heavens]

非人 fēirén [subhuman]

道德沦丧 dàodélúnsàng [morally bankrupt]

无用 wúyòng [worthless]

乱伦的 luànlúnde [depraved]

Матрёшка Солнце Синее (Matreshka solitse sineye) [Mother Blue Sun (Russian)]

地狱 dìyù [hell]

不道德 bùdàodé [immoral]

王八蛋 wángbādàn [sons of bitches]

他妈的 Tāmādē [F-k]

乱伦的 疯子 luànlúnde fēngzi [depraved lunatic]

道德沦丧的 狗娘养的 dàodélúnsàngde gǒuniángyǎngde [morally bankrupt son of a bitch]

他妈的 混蛋 tāmādē húndàn [f-ing bastard]

马上 mǎshàng [immediately]

懂吗 dǒng ma [understand]

* * *

_A/N: Feedback is shiny. I am particularly interested in hearing what you think of this scene, as it was a big challenge to write dialog and action for eight characters in a sustained scene. New territory for me as a writer._


	25. Chapter 25

TWO BY TWO BY TWO (10)

Part 10a

…and hitting…

This chapter rated K+.

* * *

Mal lay motionless on the topside of Serenity—motionless, that is, except for his right hand, in which he held a defusing tool, designed to create a highly controlled and narrowly directed magnetic field. He had taken a quick look at Serenity's 狗屎的 gǒushǐde security video from when they were parked over at the fruit market, and sure enough, there was that fuzzy, grainy saboteur climbing the hull of his gorram ship. The picture wasn't any clearer than it had been last time they were on Beaumonde, and Mal swore to himself that he would upgrade the whole gorram system as soon as he could manage it—which he knew would not be for a while. He simply couldn't afford it. He was again left with the impression that the saboteur was a woman, perhaps even the same woman—but why would his ship be sabotaged every visit to Beaumonde? Was it the same saboteur? Certainly had the same mode of operation. If it was, how would the saboteur—who had struck at Pedro Docks last time—even know that Serenity had landed at the South Sirindhorn Farmers' Market?

Slowly, slowly, he reached out little by little, until the tip of the tool made contact. The trick was to penetrate the barrier without detectable disruption to the field. Now, he just needed to—

"Mal! Mal! What the good gorram is goin' on?"

Mal froze at the sound of Jayne's voice. In the circumstances, it was a _much_ better reaction than starting at the sound of his voice, which would almost certainly trigger the detonator and leave Mal without a right hand, maybe without a right arm.

"Shush, Jayne!" Kaylee hissed loudly. "Cap'n's up topside defusing a detonator."

"What the ruttin' hell's he doin' that for? Don't he know he could get blowed up?"

Mal slowly released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, saving his reaction for a time when he could safely do it without getting blown up. He took another deep breath and focused on the task.

. . .

Jayne stopped only long enough to pick up a few more of his favorite weapons, and a couple of grenades. You never knew when you were gonna need a grenade, and he didn't like to go anywhere on the job without 'em. Kaylee had given him the coordinates of the warehouse, and he set out to try to catch up to the two docs before they did somethin' stupid. Couple of Core-bred 猴子的 屁股 hóuzide pìgu with that many university degrees to their names were bound to screw up a simple job like loading up cargo from a warehouse.

He jogged out the main gate of Pedro Docks onto the thoroughfare. Looking up and down the street, he spotted the mule stopped at a traffic signal six blocks ahead. As he watched, the signal changed and Doc Ip floored the accelerator and the mule shot ahead, only to come to a screeching halt as it caught up with the snarl of traffic half a block ahead. Jayne shook his head in disbelief. Everybody knew as the main road was a bad bet this time a' day—better off takin' the side streets. Still, no way he could catch up with them on foot. Looking fiercely at the driver of a passing hovercab, he raised his arm to hail it—the arm that just happened to be holding Vera—and was astonished when the cabbie instantly pulled over.

Jayne got in. "Yes, mister. Anything you want, mister. Just don't shoot!" the cabbie exclaimed.

Jayne smiled. _Shiny_. The cabbie saw his well-armed customer eye him with an evil grin. "Where to, mister? Don't shoot! I'm good, wherever you want!"

"See that there mule?" Jayne explained. "I want you to catch it."

. . .

The cabbie couldn't believe it. If not for the fact that he was armed to the teeth with lethal-looking weapons, the scary man had acted just like a regular fare. They caught up to two skinny men with Core accents in an open mule with a large trailer attached to it, the fare said, "Hey!" and the two invited him to join them. Scary man paid the cabbie, like a regular fare, even left him a tip. _Guess you can't judge a book by its cover_, the cabbie thought.

. . .

"Take a right turn here," Jayne advised.

"But that's not the most direct way," Simon objected.

"Well, I know that," Jayne replied. "But unless you wanna set here in rush hour traffic going nowhere-miles-an-hour for the next forty-five minutes, you should listen ta what I said."

Simon threw him a dirty look, which Jayne returned with interest, but Ip simply turned the yoke to the right and headed down the alley.

Looking over the Doc's shoulder so's he could see the coordinates on the chit, Jayne guided them left, right, and straight, through side streets and alleys, and once, on a street labeled "Maintenance vehicles only," until they reached a nondescript windowless building in an industrial park.

"This is it," Jayne stated definitively, and swung himself down from the mule. Simon and Ip followed. "Ya got the chit, Doc?"

Simon produced the chit and gazed stupidly at the door for a moment.

"Whattaya waitin' for, Doc? Stick it in the gorram reader."

Simon noticed that the door was outfitted with a slot, and after a moment's pause to work out the correct orientation, he inserted the card. The mechanism whirred to life and a small yellow light began blinking.

"Ain't you gonna key in the code?"

"I—I don't know it," Simon said.

Jayne looked at Ip. "I've got no clue, Jayne."

"Didn't Mal tell you the keycode?" Jayne asked in disbelief. Couldn't imagine how they'd left Serenity on a job without knowin' the keycode to the warehouse. This was just the sort of screw-up he figured the two Docs would make. He reached for his comm to wave the Captain, then paused, remembering that the 傻瓜 shǎguā was up topside of Serenity defusing a detonator and like to blow himself up if'n his comm chimed at a bad moment. "Aw, hell—" Jayne began.

"He did, he said—well, I didn't understand what he said," Ip admitted, looking at Simon.

"I—well, actually, I didn't get it either," Simon finally admitted.

"Why didn'tcha _ask?_" Jayne was incredulous. "Just how you two figure on gettin' into the warehouse ta do the job?" It was unbelievable. "Do you at least remember what in ruttin' hell he said?"

"He said, 'The keycode is taps'," Ip quoted. "Do you have any idea what that means? Are you supposed to—"

"Aw hell, that's easy." Jayne strode over to the keypad and punched in 114146146146146468641114. The light shifted to a steady blue and Jayne swung the door open.

"How did he do that?" Ip whispered to Simon. "That was a twenty-four-digit code."

"We would have been here all night trying to crack it, even using the new code-breaking software that River installed on my portable," Simon admitted to Ip.

Jayne knew what the two docs were whispering about. But he wasn't about to let them in on his secret. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry—but apparently not every Core-bred doctor—knows "Taps." No surprise Mal would use a bugle call from his army days. Jayne was just glad he hadn't chosen somethin' more obscure like Church Call or Officers Dress for Dinner. Alls he had to do was key in the numbers what corresponded with the pitches, and Open Sesame.

. . .

This was the third Qianxia proximity detonator that Mal had tried to defuse. The first was at a UXO training course he'd taken as a sergeant in the Independent Forces. Unexploded ordnance wasn't something the 57th Overlanders normally dealt with—there were bomb specialists, after all—but somebody in the brass had decreed that a certain number of personnel be trained in it, and Mal was the lucky winner. He'd been pulled off the line and sent for a four-week training course on Muir. The course was held at Muir Technical College, and what with staying in the pleasant dormitories on the tree-lined campus, and not getting shot at, it was as good a rest vacation as Mal had ever had, other than the guilt he felt at missing the Battle of Port Moresby, one of the nastier ones of the early part of the war. A number of his people had lost the number of their mess in that one, and he wasn't there to help.

The first Qianxia proximity detonator was the one that Mal had to defuse to pass the course. He'd managed to do it with flying colors, finding out only after the fact that the detonator, though real enough, was a dud, and wouldn't have gone off even if he'd screwed it up completely.

The second one was in the field. And definitely not a dud. Mal had managed to remember the procedure, all the steps in the correct order, and had undoubtedly saved some lives that day. Including his own. There was something about performing a task under such dire circumstances (if you fail, you die) that cemented it in the memory—he wouldn't never forget how to install a catalyzer on the compression coil, for instance. He'd examined the device attached to Serenity's topside before beginning the process, just to verify that it really was a Qianxia proximity detonator, and he'd been tempted to look up and refresh on the defusing procedure, but the cortex wouldn't have no more information than that the Qianxia proximity detonator was officially banned, and everything else about it was high-military classified. With his luck the ship would be flagged just on account of him lookin' up the name, so he didn't even try. Just had to focus and trust his memory.

Step by step, he worked his way through the procedure, moving slowly and carefully, except for the one step where you had to move quickly to bypass a timed anti-tampering device. One by one, he disabled and disarmed the subsystems, until at last he reached the moment of truth. He carefully aligned the laser field cutter.

This was it. _Inara, I love you. _He held his breath and squeezed.

No explosion. He pulled the core element out of the Savart shaft and disconnected the now harmless detonator from the portside navsat. _I love you, but I ain't puttin' up with this __狗屎__gǒushǐ__. You accuse me without cause, and I'm done apologizing for something I didn't do. It's gonna be you what comes to me to apologize. You just think on it, Inara. I'll be waitin'._

. . .

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glossary

狗屎的 gǒushǐde [crappy]

猴子的 屁股 hóuzide pìgu [monkeys' asses]

傻瓜 shǎguā [fool]

_狗屎__gǒushǐ_ _[crap] _

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_A/N: We're in the homestretch here. One more chapter to go. Feedback is most welcome._


	26. Chapter 26

TWO BY TWO BY TWO (10)

Part 10b

…and hitting.

This chapter rated K+.

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The loading of the crates went better than Jayne expected. Both of the docs were skinny and underdeveloped-looking, but Doc was stronger than he looked, and Doc 'Noyman was willin' to work hard, even though he weren't no stronger than he looked. Still, woulda gone much faster with Mal and Zoe, and he still couldn't believe the bit about the docs not knowin' how to open a gorram door.

_象__的__大便__Xiàngde__ dàbiàn_/span_!_ Simon swore to himself as the sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging. He couldn't wipe it away on account of the fact that both of his arms were occupied hoisting the heavy crate onto the mule's cargo carrier. It was harder physical labor than he'd done in a long time, and he was bone-tired, but damned if he was going to let it show. Jayne was walking around whistling as he worked, and didn't even appear to have broken a sweat. Simon had to admit that the man-ape-gone-wrong-thing had his good points, and this was one of them. The man was a good worker—excelled, even, at physical labor—and Simon couldn't help but acknowledge that if he and Ip had been left to their own devices they'd probably still be standing outside the locked warehouse door, waiting for the Blue Hands to come and get them, or the Feds to come and arrest him. It was embarrassing. Determined not to be defeated by a simple cargo-loading job, Simon called on inner reserves of strength and redoubled his efforts.

Ip grunted and strained at the crate. _牛屎__Niúshǐ__. Damn thing wouldn't even budge. _He shifted his position, trying to get a purchase on the smooth surface. _Use physics_, he thought to himself. _Change the angle, better mechanical advantage._ He tried again, got the crate to tip, struggled to control its fall, and ooffed as the thing careened into his chest. He'd wanted to ask the Captain if he was sure it was safe for him and Simon—and Jayne, too, he supposed, though Jayne seemed to be able to take care of himself—to go to the warehouse, with the Blue Hands and parties unknown at large, ready to ambush them, but he'd held his tongue. Of course it wasn't safe. But the alternative to loading the crates was disarming a live anti-personnel detonator on top of Serenity—the job the Captain had elected for himself—and that struck Ip as even more not safe.

He struggled to straighten his legs. At last he was standing with the thing in his arms. He staggered across the warehouse floor, trying not to bang the crate or himself on the doorjamb, and made it over to the mule, where he rested the bottom edge of the crate on the lip of the cargo hauler. He closed his eyes and prayed for the strength to get the thing loaded the rest of the way up onto it, but since he'd been raised in a multi-ethnic environment with at least three religious traditions in his family background and secular humanism dominating them all, his prayers lacked focus, and he ended up turning to the god of physics, as usual, for his solution. _Duh. Use the angle. Mechanical advantage. With the right maneuvers, one person can move an upright piano onto a four-foot high stage from the floor below._ Putting his shoulder to the crate, he rolled it over onto its end, its momentum carrying it over the edge and into position. Good thing the crates weren't labeled "This side up." Now all he had to do was walk back into the warehouse and do it again. And again.

Ip had never looked down on those who engaged in physical labor for a living, but he felt renewed respect as he watched how easily Jayne moved, shuttling the crates like it was all in a day's work, which Ip guessed it was for him. Ip felt like an idiot with the Captain's gun—_loaded_ gun, he didn't doubt—stuffed into his back pocket. He had no experience whatsoever with firearms. He noticed that Jayne, while industriously moving crates, simultaneously kept a sharp lookout both inside and outside the warehouse, and kept more than one gun within hand's reach at all times. Even Simon wore his gun—Ip hadn't known that the physician kept a gun, let alone had a holster for it. Ip just hoped that the gun in his back pocket had its safety on, so he didn't end up accidentally shooting himself in the 屁股 pìgu.

"_Don't know if I killed 'im, but I hope so." _ The Captain's blunt words about shooting a man shocked Ip. He understood the Captain's anger that anyone would shoot a pregnant woman, but…couldn't he just call the police, or something? Did he have to shoot the man? Kill him? It gave him a creepy feeling. Then Ip realized that, although for some reason he hadn't been as shocked, River Tam had killed a man before his very eyes that afternoon. By breaking his neck. That was creepy. And he didn't feel sorry for the 混蛋 húndàn either. He felt creepy, too, about his complete lack of compassion. And here was the _really_ creepy thing: it wasn't even the creepiest thing that had happened to him that day. A day that seemed taken from the pages of a bad spy thriller, played out in the strange, cruel, incoherent world of a B-grade film noir.

_What the hell had been going on in that alley?_ Ip thought. The Bill he used to know back on Bernadette wouldn't have done that. Wouldn't have come into a dark alley to kill an innocent man and a girl not out of her teens. Yet he understood clearly that it was the Bill he used to know that he had to thank for their escape. Bill had changed (obviously for the worse), but it was their old bond of friendship that had made Bill spare him from being the victim of a hit. The dead victim of a hit. Ip's brain was churning as he began to understand. 我的天啊 Wǒ de tiān ā. Bill was a hitman. A corporate hitman. Working for Blue Sun. Blue Sun was after him. Or after River. _Why?_

"Alright, Doc 'Noyman," Jayne called. "How's about you take us back to the ship? Go easy so all them crates don't tip off the side of the cargo hauler. Be a shame to hafta re-load 'em." Ip put the mule into gear and eased away from the warehouse door. "Next time," Jayne continued, "how's about we bring along the anti-grav pallet loader and a couple a' dollies? Make the work go faster."

. . .

Turned out Mal had succeeded in defusing the detonator by the time they got back to Serenity with the load. Kaylee was up topside installing the navsat, racing against the clock to get it done before it got dark and they just plain ran out of time. Mal had been helping Kaylee with the job, but as soon as he saw the mule turn into the entrance of Pedro Docks, he climbed down to assist in loading the crates into the cargo bay.

Mal was anxious to get away, out of atmo, and into the comfort of the Black. Most definitely he wanted out of Pedro Docks before dark, because nighttime made it just that much easier for…whoever they were to spring another attack. Jayne and the docs pulled up in the mule, the trailing cargo hauler precariously loaded with an absurd number of crates that Mal was dead certain exceeded the recommended utility class weight limit. Simon took a minute to look in at the infirmary and check on his patients, but both of them were resting and Inara told him nothing remarkable had happened—inside the ship at least. Mal set up the unloading for maximum efficiency. Simon and Dr Ip tried their best, but hoicking cargo crates clearly wasn't their strong suit, and Mal quickly set Ip to operating the anti-grav pallet loader, while Jayne manhandled the crates onto the pallet loader from the top of the cargo hauler, and he and Simon shuttled the unloaded crates into the cargo bay on dollies. With four men working and the assistance of the anti-grav pallet loader, unloading the mule took far less time than loading it had.

It had been one helluva day, Mal thought, as he maneuvered the heavily laden dolly up the ramp, and it weren't over yet. What with Buck Holden and his corporate espionage, Ip and River beset by the Blue Hands, Simon finding his picture plastered all over the cortex (maybe his warrant weren't so rescinded after all), the ambush, gettin' shot at and Zoe gettin' hurt, the ship gettin' sabotaged despite his attempts to prevent it, Kaylee finding a Qianxia proximity detonator topside and him having to defuse it, he was bushed. He just hoped there weren't no more surprises in store before he could close up the ramp and take Serenity out into the Black where she belonged.

As dusk began to gather and the last couple of crates went up the ramp, Mal registered that a small knot of people had gathered in front of his ship.

"What's goin' on here?" he demanded as he strode back down the ramp, hitching his browncoat in an automatic gesture that gave him clear access to his gun. The group didn't look to be hostile, looked in fact like nothin' more than delivery folk. He noted that Mrs Li's son Boqin and several of his workers were standing at the edge the crowd nearest the ramp, and knew they were performing the promised function of denying strangers access to his ship. There were several unfamiliar people in front of him, and most of them were hovering around crates. Mal signaled Jayne with a look to move the mule and cargo hauler back aboard ship and secure them for flight, and he saw Jayne acknowledge his silent order to cover him in case of unpleasant surprises. He turned to the nearest of the crowd and began dealing with them.

It was all deliveries. There was a crate of medical supplies that Simon had bought. There was a set of medium-sized crates from Reed Labs—the tech cargo Ip had arranged. He signed off on some paperwork and let Ip take care of the crates. Then there was a single hand-carry crate, size of a dog kennel, from the University—the other tech item Ip and River arranged before the Blue Hands caught up to them. He signed for it, and strangely, a crate of apples—musta been something Jayne ordered when he was seeing to the food and supplies. He hoped they didn't have Grizwalds in 'em, 'cause he really, _really_ didn't want any more surprises. Last of all were the two crates—two large, gorram, _clucking_ crates—filled with chickens. Gorrammit! Just 'cause they have feathers don't mean they can fly…leastaways he didn't want 'em flying on _his_ boat. He was really hoping the rotten fruit man would forget to send them, miss the delivery somehow. He sighed. Having cargo wasn't always all it was cracked up to be.

. . .

Lift off had gone without incident, and soon as he pulled away from Beaumonde orbit and out into the Black, Mal keyed in the course settings, stifling a great big yawn as he did so.

And there was the next problem. With River out cold and Zoe flat on her back in the infirmary, the only pilot available to fly Serenity was him. He couldn't discount the possibility that Serenity was being watched and would be followed, by the attackers who'd laid the ambush, the Feds, the Blue Hands, any or all of 'em. While the ship could fly on autopilot well enough, someone had to be alert for a tail, so there'd be a chance to do something about it afore it was too late and they were all dead. And he could barely keep his eyes open. If he set the autopilot and tried to take watch, he'd be out like a light in the pilot's chair before you could say "Don't fall asleep on the job." He sorely needed to get horizontal, real rest in a real bed. And once he got there he would sleep like one dead.

Someone was hovering in the corridor outside the bridge. Not just any someone. "Inara," he said, swallowing the _darlin'_ that came unbidden to the tip of his tongue, "can I ask you a favor?"

She stepped onto the bridge. No point lurking. She spoke with an edge in her voice to cover her discomfort. "Oh, so you're _asking_ now, are you Mal? I thought I was under your orders."

_Gorrammit. Why'd she wanna make this difficult?_ "Listen, I'm wonderin'—will you fly Serenity?" She looked at him in silence, her expression unreadable. "I'm out a pilot and a first officer. It's been one helluva day and I don't think I can keep awake no longer." He explained the issue of the tail succinctly. "So I'd be much obliged if you'd take a trick at the helm."

She didn't reply. He was too gorram tired to try to read what was on her mind, and he had no stomach for guessing games. He was sick of their not talking to each other. So he just stood up and gestured towards the pilot chair. "Have a seat."

She moved stiffly over to the chair and sat, her face a blank mask. "I set the autopilot, she'll just fly herself. Keep an eye on the wake scan and the sensors. You see anything untoward, anything at all, you call me to the bridge immediately. Don't care if you gotta throw a bucket of ice water over my head to wake me, you do it, anything makes you uneasy." He had already started towards his bunk when she spoke, softly but firmly, turning her head to look him in the face.

"Why, Mal?"

"Because I trust you, Inara," he replied, looking meaningfully into her eyes. "Trust you to take care of my girl."

He turned and stepped off the bridge, heading directly to his bunk. Inara knew he didn't see the flood of tears that ran down her face as his words echoed in her head. _ I trust you, I trust you, I trust you_….

. . .

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_fin_

glossary

_象的 大便 __Xiàngde dàbiàn [Elephant excrement]_

_牛屎 __Niúshǐ [Shit]_

屁股 pìgu [butt]

混蛋 húndàn [bastard]

我的天啊 Wǒ de tiān ā [Oh my god]

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_A/N: And that's all, folks. For this story, anyway. I know that the ending doesn't resolve _all_ the loose ends, and those of you who are wondering how Mal and Inara will ever heal this rift in their relationship will have to wait. (I do hope you'll find it worth the wait.) I am intending to take a pause in posting for a week or two, and will begin posting the next story, "What Begins with an Apple," after that. I appreciate your comments and reviews. _


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